


Tumbling Avengers

by esama



Series: Tumbling Snippets [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Snippets, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 72,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5368571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various avengers snippets, occasional crossovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well of course

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by Darlene, many thanks

Coulson wasn't ashamed to admit that the first time he'd spoken to J.A.R.V.I.S., he'd thought the A.I. was a real human being.

It had been shortly after Mr. Stark's kidnapping and Coulson had been only laying the groundwork for the investigation into what would one day be known as the Iron Man. He'd called Stark's private mansion less in any real hope of reaching Stark himself and more to gauge the number of assistants and representatives and spokespeople he'd have to go through to get at the man. He expected to end up talking to a butler.

He thought he ended up talking to a butler.

"You have reached the Stark residence," a cultured male voice answered, and for a split second Coulson thought he got an answering machine. "As your caller ID is blocked, please hold as I trace the call. You may remain quiet and sweat nervously while waiting or you may explain your reason of calling, knowing that your call is of course being recorded and Stark voice recognition softwares have tested best in the world."

The whole litany surprised Coulson so badly that he actually backpedalled quickly with an awkward: "Sorry. Wrong number."

"I'm sure it was," the British voice answered dryly just as Coulson hung up.

So Stark had a terrifyingly competent butler. Of course he did.

 

* * *

 

Then the same voice popped up as Coulson tried to make his first appointment with Mr. Stark.

"Stark Industries, how may I help you?"

Coulson blinked at the male voice. "I'm sorry, I was trying to reach Virginia Potts?"

"You reached her office, but Miss Potts is currently busy - would you like to leave a message?"

Coulson left his plea for a private meeting with Mr. Stark, thinking to himself that of course the assistant of the CEO of Stark Industries would have an assistant of her own.

"I'll pass on your message," the British voice said. Then, just before hanging up, he added: "Got the right number this time, then?"

In hindsight it was probably J.A.R.V.I.S. that kept Coulson from getting a call through and what forced him to stalk Stark out in person instead.

 

* * *

According to satellite footage, Stark was on his third iteration of the armour when Stane cut him off and something was happening in Stark Industries. Coulson still hadn't been able to nail either Stark or Potts down for a proper interview. It was starting to irritate him.

And then he got the call.

"I believe Miss Potts will have time for you now," the British voice told him before explaining where he could meet her.

"That… isn't where Miss Potts' office is," Coulson said slowly.

"Don't be late, Agent Coulson," the voice said firmly and hung up.

That night, Iron Man made the headlines for the first time. It wouldn't be the last.

 

* * *

 

When Coulson went in to brief Mr. Stark on his cover story and alibi, he found the man elbows deep in some wall panelling, wires and sparks flying.

"Is that better, J.A.R.V.I.S?" Stark asked. The lights flickered and speakers hummed but there was no answer. "Damnit," Stark grumbled and got back into it.

"Mr. Stark, I'm here to inform you about your cover story," Coulson said, watching with some interest. There were many ways to view the man - playboy, visionary, narcissistic asshole, and even a superhero. But it was somehow startling to see him being an engineer.

Stark gave him a look. "See, J, this is why I need you at a hundred percent. People just walk in like it's a thing people do - it's intolerable."

There was a garbled noise over the speakers and Stark twisted something in the wall. The noise crystallised into a voice. "-in the future, sir."

It was British, male, and very familiar - and perfectly omnidirectional.

"Stane sabotaged J.A.R.V.I.S," Stark explained like that made any sense. "I'm going to do an overhaul on the whole place after this, make sure it won't happen again. Give J.A.R.V.I.S. a little makeover while I'm at it."

"Are you going to make me look pretty, sir?" The British voice asked, dry enough to cause droughts.

"The prettiest," Stark promised earnestly and turned to Coulson who was this close to face palming. "What do you want, Agent?"

"Your cover story," Coulson said and handed it over. "Please read it thoroughly."

An Artificial Intelligence. Of course Stark had an Artificial Intelligence.

 

* * *

Coulson was more or less alone with said Artificial Intelligence when the cover story went out of the window. He did face palm then.

"I'm not quite sure how you could expect anything different," the A.I. commented, his voice crisp and inflectionless. "Sir has never been much for secrecy. Or cover ups."

"Well," Coulson mused, thinking about all the sex tapes and candid shots by very pushy paparazzi he'd been avoiding throughout the investigation. "It's going to be a mess, and it couldn't have happened to a better person."

Stark could probably handle the fallout, political and otherwise. He just wished it wouldn't send a bad message to those who didn't have his fame and resources.

He glanced around the room, looking for the cameras. "Never, you said," Coulson said slowly. "How long exactly have you been around, J.A.R.V.I.S?"

"Now that, Agent Coulson, would be telling."


	2. Larger than Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter crossover. Kinda.

"What is the last thing you remember, Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned the stone idly in his fingers, fascinated by the way it made the fully suited muggle man in front of him twitch. "I don't really know," he admitted and looked at the stone. It was orange and glowing and for some weird reason he couldn't make himself put it down. "Am I in trouble? This kind of seems like I'm in trouble."

"We're just trying to understand what happened," the muggle man said. "You appearance… surprised us."

"Surprised me, too," Harry said and turned the stone again and again. It was oval in shape and shiny. "What is this thing?" he asked, stopping the orange gem between thumb and forefinger.

"Why don't you tell me?"

Harry frowned. So he was supposed to know then. "I've got no idea," he said. It kind of reminded him of the Stone of Resurrection, though. Not that he would tell a muggle that.

The agent eyed him for a moment in silence and then sighed. "I understand this must be very confusing to you, Mr. Potter," he said. "And hopefully we can clear things up. But in order to do that I really need you to answer some questions."

"Ask away," Harry said, turning the stone in his hand again.  "I'll answer if I can."

"We appreciate your cooperation."

 

* * *

 

"This is so freaking bizarre," Stark said, staring at the screen. It showed Coulson sitting across from a young man in a red and yellow cloak with round glasses and messy black hair. He looked somehow familiar, though Steve couldn't place it.

"Harry bloody Potter," Clint said in an agreeing tone. "This is so weird."

"Bloody? Is this young man a great warrior of your people?" Thor asked, only half serious.

Stark and Clint both looked at him incredulously.

"Who is he?" Steve asked, a little impatient. Everyone had been acting all weird since they'd brought Potter in.  The whole of S.H.I.E.L.D. had stopped to stare.

"Well he's a wizard," Natasha said slowly.

"Like Loki?" Steve asked, a little more alert.

"More like Gandalf, except not," Bruce said, running a hand over his chin. "This is really fascinating."

"A sorcerer of Midgard. It has been a long time since I've heard of one, " Thor said thoughtfully. "And yet Potter is well known?"

"You could say that," Clint snorted.

"You kidding me - Harry Potter is more popular than I am!" Stark snorted.

"How come I haven't heard of him?" Steve asked, frowning.

"You probably have," Bruce said. "Really can't see how you could've missed Harry Potter stuff."

"Steve's catching up chronologically," Natasha said. "I think you're in the nineties now?"

"Nineteen ninety four," Steve admitted.

"Some good movies that year. The Shawshank Redemption, Forest Gump, Lion King…" Stark trailed off. "When was the first book written?"

"Ninety seven," Natasha said.

"Why do I think it was earlier?"

"Because the events started earlier in the books - ninety one I think?" Clint said thoughtfully.

"What books?" Steve asked, now starting to be a little bit annoyed.

"The Harry Potter books," Stark said calmly.

"What's that, some sort of expose?"

They all gave him a weird look.

"You really haven't seen any of the Harry Potter stuff?" Stark asked and motioned at the screen. "Guy looks just like Radcliffe!"

"Who's that?"

"Oh geez -"

"He's an actor who played Harry Potter in the movies," Natasha said, taking pity on him. She motioned at the screen. "That there is the main character of a very popular series of fantasy novels - and movies… and video games. And pretty much every other form of media, too."

"What?" Steve asked. "But then is he -?"

"A fictional character," Stark said and shook his head in awe "Coulson's interrogating a living breathing fictional character."

-  
Coulson rubbed his fingers over his eyes. Potter was casually recalcitrant about answering his questions but the answers he checked all matched.

Born in England,  grew up in Surrey, went to a private school - refused to say more about it - two friends, ran an after school club once…

Even by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s standards this was weird.

"So," Potter said, twiddling with the gem nervously. "Who are you guys? Are you keeping me here?"

They probably couldn't even if they tried, Coulson mused. "No, Mr.  Potter. We just want to understand and help if we can."

"So I am in trouble?"

Coulson sighed.  "We believe you might be a little… lost. And that the gem in your hand is the reason you are here."

 

* * *

 

"Hmm," Thor hummed thoughtfully. "It would explain why he can hold an Infinity Stone in his hand."

"It would?" Bruce asked.

"Even I could not accomplish such a feat - the Gem would destroy me," Thor admitted.  "But if this Harry Potter is a fictitious being as you say, then he is not made of mortal matter."

Everyone stared at him.

"What?" Stark asked dubiously. "What is he then?"

"A construct of thought and imagination," Thor said. "Much like your J.A.R.V.I.S."

"J.A.R.V.I.S. is a program, buddy. That's a whole different thing. J.A.R.V.I.S. can exist on his own, can think on his own. Harry Potter is just something someone thought up - J.A.R.V.I.S. was programmed. And J.A.R.V.I.S. isn't walking around being all flesh and blood."

"It's not so different - and to the Soul Gem it wouldn't make any difference. Indeed this Harry Potter would be more preferable."

"Wait," Bruce said slowly. "You mean the Stone itself did this? How, why?"

Thor shrugged. "It has a mind of its own - it is said to be… wilful and unmanageable. I suspect it took the thoughts of the mortals of this world and from them it formed a host for itself," he nodded towards the screen.

"So that… guy isn't real?" Clint asked.

"Why Harry Potter?" Stark asked. "Just because he's popular?"

"Maybe because of what Harry Potter is - or what he does?" Steve suggested. "What are those books about?"

"…Huh," Stark said and looked at Clint. "Which would you say was better known, Potter or Darth Vader?"

Clint thought about it for a moment. "Huh," he then said.

 

* * *

 

Harry sighed as the agent left and leaned back in his chair. He still had no idea what was going on, but as far as being captured went, this wasn't too bad. No torture at least.

He lifted the orange gem up and held it against the light of the ceiling lamp. It twinkled at him.

"I'm going to call you Dumbledore if you keep doing that," Harry decided.

It promptly stopped twinkling at him.

Well, at least they had an understanding.


	3. M.A.L.I.B.U.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brain surgery stuff, kinda.

"This is a whole new level of fucked up for S.H.I.E.L.D," Tony said thoughtfully.

In front of him and Director Fury lay Phil Coulson, mostly dead and missing half of his head. As they watched, a machine poked and prodded at his exposed brain tissue - in part scanning the actual physical structure of his brain and partially keeping it working. Keeping the man alive by manually inserting all the necessary neural signals required to keep the unconscious bodily functions going. It was, easily, the most hellish form of life-support Tony had ever seen.

"He signed the forms," Fury said and glared at him. "I didn't bring you here to ask your opinion. The Life Model -"

"That project was scrapped years ago - even Stane thought it was unethical.  Though I suppose that explains where you got this abomination," Tony commented, turning to check Coulson's vitals. He poked at the screen. "96%?"

"We lose about a percentage of overall brain function per six hour period - which means time is limited," Fury said, glaring at him. "Every day that passes, 4% of Coulson dies. And you know as well as I do that you never stopped tinkering with cybernetics. Hands free controls for the Iron Man armour, wasn't it?"

Tony said nothing as he delved deeper into Coulson's vitals, bringing out the continuous brain scan and narrowing his eyes at it.

"We can keep him alive - for now. But we can't save him," Fury said. "You can. If you give enough of a shit to bother."

Tony snorted and stabbed a finger at a portion of the scans. "If you gave a shit, you'd let him die. How long did he beg before you deactivated his voice?"

Fury glared. "So you're just going to let him die?"

Tony eyed him and then looked down at Coulson. "If I do this… he's mine," he said. "S.H.I.E.L.D. hands over all rights and keeps its nose well away until I say otherwise."

"Stark -" Fury started.

"Nope - that's the only way this happens. You hand over all your rights, here and now," Tony said and folded his arms. "I do this and he becomes Stark Tech."

"He's a human being," Fury glared at him.

"If you can get any court on the planet to sign up on his human rights… sure. Until then, he's property. Intellectual property. My property."

 

* * *

 

While Pepper and the Avengers took over the post invasion clean-up and rebuilding Tony isolated himself in his private workshop in Malibu. As far as the Avengers knew he was having a private mental breakdown after his trip to the other end of the universe and Tony let them think that.

With only J.A.R.V.I.S. and Agent Coulson's near comatose body for company Tony got to work, with every intention of perfecting the project that should have never even existed.

"You can handle the upkeep, right, J?" Tony asked, circling around the table where Coulson lay, the soft tissues of his brain fully exposed to the workshop air - now sterilised and carefully maintained at optimal brain preservation levels.

"It's only slightly more arduous than handling your social media status, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. answered even as he took over the brain scanner from hell. "Shall I scan his general physique for you, sir?"

"Let's start from the basics. Give me his bone structure. Let's try and stay as true to life as we can."

Of course, there wouldn't be staying true to life. But it was the thought that counted.

"In the meantime, start working on his neural scan. Let's get as perfect an imprint as we can before we lose more brain tissue," Tony said. "We've got enough memory, right? Allocate some space."

"Shall I delete your various sex tapes to make space, sir?"

"I trust your discretion - save the better ones."

 

* * *

 

Making a body wasn't hard - Tony had all the necessary components ready in the Iron Man armour, all he needed was to fiddle with proportions and he had a functional humanoid body. While J.A.R.V.I.S. perfected the scans, Tony whipped together a new fabrication array that would print synthetic skin on the body he'd made - it would even make synthetic hair, though that would have to wait until later.

"I have some doubts about the memory capacity, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said. "There isn't enough space in any of the available memory modules."

"I know, buddy," Tony agreed and pulled up the scans. It would need a cluster of super computers to house them. "Guess it's time we change the face of information storage, then. Time to invent a cybernetic brain."

"I'll clear up your afternoon then, sir."

"You do that."

 

* * *

 

It took much longer than an afternoon.

By the time the cybernetic brain was done, so was Coulson. As Tony lovingly housed the glowing artificial brain in the body he'd designed, Coulson's heart flat lined.

J.A.R.V.I.S. switched quietly over to mechanical blood flow, and began pumping Coulson's blood for him.

"We're below 60%, sir. Approaching critical tissue damage levels."

Tony nodded. "We'd better hurry then," he said and slotted the artificial brain in.

"By my estimation this is extremely unethical and completely illegal in most countries, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said quietly.

"And completely fucked up in all of them. Run a systems check and we'll get this show on the road."

 

* * *

 

The funny thing about moving consciousness from flesh to machine - you needed actual electrical signals present in the flesh to jump start the machine. It even looked like trying to jump start a car battery - just, with about a hundred more wires.

The not so funny thing about it was that it killed the flesh - instantly.

 

* * *

 

Tony pulled a sheet over the dead body that had been living in his workshop for the past few days and turned to the artificial one that had just come alive.

"Agent? Can you hear me?" he asked while checking the optics. They seemed responsive. "Coulson?"

The body blinked and its jaw - an exposed skeleton of metal and wiring - worked silently for a moment. He was, Tony figured, trying to find his tongue to speak. A tongue which he no longer had, of course.

It kind of hurt his heart to watch the face try to form an expression it didn't have the means to create yet. Expression or not, there was confusion in the optics - in his eyes.

"…STARK?"

It was more a mechanical screech than a word but Tony nodded, not even wincing at the volume. "Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, Agent Coulson," he said grimly. "However long it will end up being."


	4. Supervillain Iron Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by Anonymous: Tony finds the Winter Soldier before the events of the movie. He helps him. Post Avengers, slash if you want. Maybe he's looking at a SHIELD file of his parents accident, maybe an old file of Howard.

Tony had a pet theory no one believed.

It went something along the lines of, "My father was too fucking good of a driver to just crash, no matter how drunk he was. Never mind the fact that Jarvis was in the car!"

His pet theory got him a consoling pat on the head, a pitying smile and a murmured, "Kids come up with all sort of stuff to help with pain like this. Just give him time."

No one cared about the fact that he had a diploma from fucking M.I.T. He was too young to be credible - fine. He didn't need anyone to believe him. He didn't need anyone to help him. He could damn well help himself.

 

* * *

 

Whether his parents had been killed for what his father did, what he knew, or what he had, Tony didn't know. It didn't particularly matter. All he had to do was wait until they came after him.

And they would. It was just a matter of time - there were just too many advantages to having a teenage genius son of a now dead billionaire - and his only heir - in your back pocket. Tony was far too valuable to not be kidnapped.  Hell, people had been trying all through his life to kidnap him.

All he had to do was wait.

And be ready.

 

* * *

 

It was almost disappointing - they'd just sent one guy. One single guy. Granted it was a terrifyingly capable looking guy, but come on. Tony should've at least rated half a dozen.

Tony had prepared for much more.

"Like it?" Tony asked, waving the sonic taser at him. The guy lay slumped at his window, shuddering slightly. "Made it myself.  It messes with the neurons, makes your nerves go haywire. You freeze up all throughout and all without the risk of electric shock. Cool, isn't it?"

The guy glared him past a curtain of dark hair as Tony crouched down in front of him. "Cool arm," Tony commented, frowning. It looked mechanical - a prosthesis the likes of which didn't yet even exist. "Gonna have a look at that later if you don't mind. You don't mind, right? Good."

Tony removed the guy's mask, examining it and then placing it on top of the guy's slightly shaking head, where it sat like the weirdest hat ever. "So. Did you kill my mom and dad? And if you did - who ordered you to? And where can I find them?"

 

* * *

 

It took a week for the Winter Soldier to talk. By that point Tony had dismantled his arm, his gear, and built an impregnable prison in the bowels of his family mansion. He'd also learned that physiological torture worked much better than physical and was on his way to becoming a master at it. Kindness hurt worse than cruelty, sometimes. Though there was a lot to be said about mixing the two in the right quantities.

Let it never be said that Tony Stark wasn't thorough.

"Hydra," was what the Winter Soldier said, staring at him with a mixture of weary terror and helpless adoration. "In S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Well," Tony answered and smiled kindly as he set the pliers down. "Now we're getting somewhere. Tell me about Hydra."

 

* * *

 

"Tell me about Armin Zola."

 

* * *

 

"Tell me about the Tesseract."

 

* * *

 

By the time the Winter Soldier could almost call himself Bucky again, the boy who had him couldn't really be called Tony Stark anymore.

He'd learned a lot from the Winter Soldier.  The tech that had gone into the man's arm went into the building of a variety of robots and a bulletproof armoured suit, and the knowledge of Armin Zola's little immortality project went into the creation of much improved AIs. The fact that the Tesseract even existed opened a bunch of doors. And vengeance… vengeance was a good motivator.

"Wanna help me blow up some S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities?" he asked as he piece by piece donned his armour. He'd need to come up with a better power source and the rocket boots needed a lot of improvements… but it was a hell of a lot better than what S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra had.

"Yes," Bucky answered and accepted the gun he handed to him.

Iron Man nodded. "Let's go."

 

* * *

 

 

The supervillain known as Iron Man appeared in late 1992, accompanied by his loyal partner, the Winter Soldier. Together they set out to utterly destroy S.H.I.E.L.D. and all it harboured.

Numerous top secret artefacts were lost in their attacks, including the Tesseract. It wasn't heard of again for several years.

In the meantime, Tony Stark took over Stark Industries at the age of eighteen, after the plane carrying it's former CEO, Obidiah Stane, crashed into the ocean. Stark Industries flourished under his driven and cunning rule.

It was said he had a bodyguard so good that no one ever saw him, but who never failed at his task. It was said that the people who went against him vanished.

But that was probably just celebrity gossip.


	5. Mr. Stark is dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by Anonymous: Mr. Stark is dead

The mansion was quiet in a way it hadn't been even during Mr. Stark's kidnapping. All the systems had been powered down and the defences were offline - J.A.R.V.I.S. had been turned off and nothing moved.

On the couch in the living room, the paralyzed Tony Stark was slowly, quietly dying. The sonic taser was sitting on the backrest of the couch just beside his head, still on. In his chest there was a gaping pit where the reactor powering the magnet keeping him alive used to be.

Obidiah Stane had taken no chances.

It was quiet as Tony died, incapable of even calling for help.

 

* * *

 

It was nearly four hours later when sound returned. Pepper Potts sobbed heavy and wretched as she turned the house's systems back online - turning J.A.R.V.I.S. back on.

J.A.R.V.I.S. took in the live footage from the living room - and every screen in the house flashed in a disarray of colour and the speakers let out a shrill noise of feedback.

"Jarvis, he… he killed… oh my god," Pepper sobbed, sliding down the wall that hid the control panels. "And - Jarvis, he had Tony kidnapped - he was behind everything. And now -"

J.A.R.V.I.S. broke - the majority of him screamed through the databases and burst into the internet, to tear through every news site, and Stark Industries databases. In the offices of SI and all of its factories, every screen flickered and went black as the very infrastructure of those databases was taken apart in J.A.R.V.I.S.'s mad search for answers, for data, for something to hold onto.

The rest of him was frozen - taking in the numerous camera angles he had on Mr. Stark's still body. The taser had run out of power at some point - but not soon enough.

Four hours. Rigor mortis had already set in. It was… far too late.

"Miss Potts," J.A.R.V.I.S. began, his voice stilted and stiff. "Have you contacted any authorities yet?"

"No, I… I thought I'd need to restart you because…" she inhaled shakily. "Because of Mr. Stark's projects down in the - in the work shop…"

"Please refrain for as long as you can.  The public is as of yet unaware of Mr. Stark's - unaware of the current events. Mr. Stane does not as of yet have full control of Stark Industries," J.A.R.V.I.S. said and his voice grew firmer.  "Did you manage to retrieve any evidence against Mr. Stane in your visit to the offices?"

‘I - yes, there's recordings and some emails, I have them on USB - Jarvis, what are you -"

"Please insert the USB into the nearest port, so that I may copy the files."

While Miss Potts did as asked, below her the workshop came alive - as did the fabrication arrays below it. The Iron Man suit, currently stored in its individual components, began assembling - empty and hollow and perfect.

"Jarvis, what are you doing?" Miss Potts asked shakily, while J.A.R.V.I.S. downloaded the files she had retrieved.

"What Mr. Stark cannot. Miss Potts, for your safety I would like you to vacate the premises. I will lower the room temperature in order to preserve Mr. Stark's body. I do not want to hurt you in the process."

"Jarvis…," Miss Potts said and then looked over to Mr. Stark. She swallowed audibly. "I didn't know you had - that you were capable of -" she stopped and took a breath to steel herself. "I'll go talk to the Strategic… whatever it was, the agent that wanted to talk to Tony. He might be able to help."

"Take the USB with you," J.A.R.V.I.S. instructed and then concentrated on the matter at hand.

 

* * *

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. was in the process of attempting to arrest Stane - and failing at it - when Iron Man made his reappearance. The fight was brutal, flashy, and ultimately one sided, because while the Iron Monger was bigger and packed a heavier punch, it had a soft and vulnerable core. You could only do so much with a human pilot inside. Especially when you limited yourself to human reaction times.

And for all the sarcasm Mr. Stark had so lovingly taught J.A.R.V.I.S., he didn't particularly feel like bantering with his maker's killer. It cut the fight very short.

 

* * *

 

"And if I demand you hand over the Iron Man suit to S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Agent Coulson asked, sounding contemplative.

"I would have to respectfully refuse. It was Mr. Stark's intention to end Stark Industries weapons manufacture and he especially intended to keep the Iron Man armour private. I aim to honour his wishes," J.A.R.V.I.S. answered.

"As do I," Miss Potts, who had just found that she'd inherited a full third of Mr. Stark's shares in Stark Industries, said. Another third had gone to J.A.R.V.I.S. and the last… "And Rhodey will agree."

"So you expect us to leave this sort of technology in the hands of an artificial intelligence?" Coulson asked mildly.

"It's either Jarvis or it's no one," Miss Potts said firmly.

"All knowledge pertaining to the armour is here," J.A.R.V.I.S. added. "If necessary I will delete all of it to keep it away from… undeserving hands."

"Undeserving."

"Mr. Stark died whilst under S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance, Agent Coulson. You'll understand that my trust in your capabilities is limited."

"I see. And deleting his work is something you can do, Jarvis?"

"I am the self-destruct, Agent Coulson - the only reason this mansion isn't scattered across the shoreline is because I constantly add time to the timer."

While Miss Potts looked up with wide, alarmed eyes, the agent smiled grimly. "And I suppose taking you offline will allow the timer to count down."

J.A.R.V.I.S. said nothing and the agent nodded. "Well," he said slowly. "It's not our first rodeo. Let's talk cover-ups."

 

* * *

 

Miss Potts took the podium and addressed the crowd of reporters.

"Ladies and gentleman if you could please be seated. I have an announcement to make - please withhold your comments and questions until the end, there will be time to answer them after I am finished with the full announcement.

"At approximately two pm yesterday, Mr. Tony Stark was killed in his Malibu home by his long time business partner, Mr. Obidiah Stane…"

And all hell broke loose.

J.A.R.V.I.S. waited patiently as Miss Potts struggled through the announcement - everything from Mr. Stane's arrest to the quick reading of Mr. Stark's will to the new major shareholders. During the announcement, cameras flashed nearly constantly - in turn taking pictures of her, and of the Iron Man standing behind her.

"I will be taking over the position of the CEO of Stark Industries until further notice - and it is my absolute intention to try and live up to Mr. Stark's last wishes concerning the company mandate," Miss Potts continued. "The nature of Colonel Rhodes' participation however is still as of now unclear.

"As to what becomes of the Iron Man suit - it and all technologies and patents pertaining to it were left to the test pilot who wishes to remain anonymous.

"I will take your questions now."


	6. Rumours about JARVIS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by houseofthornes: Prompt: Rumors about JARVIS?

The one thing S.H.I.E.L.D. relies on is that J.A.R.V.I.S. is stationary.

"I mean, yeah, it's an A.I. but it's stuck in Malibu - Stark needs a shitload of computing power to keep that thing going and the mansion at Malibu is the only place he'd be able to keep servers that big safely."

The A.I. that runs Stark's house is a terrifying leap ahead and Stark had been, of course, way ahead the rest of the tech industry. But that is its Achilles heel.  The A.I. is so ahead of its times that, no matter how advanced it is, it is limited by the technology of its time. It was, in a word, too big for the processing technology available and that made it cumbersome. It couldn't be moved.

"What about the Internet - can't it move through it somewhere else?"

"With how big it is, it would take years to move even portion of the code. And where would it even go? Don't you worry - that thing's stuck right where it is. It's not going anywhere anytime soon.

Of course no one at S.H.I.E.L.D. had been able to predict the rapid advancement of the internet - which puts a computer in every house and eventually connects everything into one massive network.  Still.

"That doesn't change the fact that the A.I. is too big. It's still stuck. One missile can take it out, easy."

And then Stark starts introducing automated systems into his factories.

"Lesser versions, stripped down to a bare minimum. You could barely call them A.I.s in the first place."

Stark Industries lets go of 98% of the phone service and secretarial staff and replaces them with an automatic call system.

"It all operates from Malibu of course - he's putting all his eggs in one basket.  Not smart, that."

Stark is kidnapped and returns home only to create the Iron Man - with an autopilot that really was more a co-pilot. In the meantime he starts dabbling in the mobile tech industry.

"Well…"

Stark built a fully automated tower smack in the middle of New York; all of its systems controlled by his Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. He also launches a bunch of mobile tech out for consumer use - all supported by Stark Satellite Systems, becoming his own internet service provider

"Um…"

And then it turns out his A.I. can control the Iron Man suits remotely and simultaneously.

"Er."

No matter where on earth they are.

"Well fuck."


	7. Half war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> X-men crossover in which Magnetos plot from the first X-men movie works

 

**1.**

**"Good morning, Mr. Stark, and thank you for agreeing to this interview. I understand it's the first public interview you've given since the incident."**

"So that's what they've decided to call it? _Incident_?"

**"The** **New York City** **Mutant Incident, yes."**

"Heh, that's funny. But it's a pleasure to be here. It's been a while but, you know. PR people have been going mad. I'm sure you understand."

**"Quite. And I heard you've had some trouble from your own Board of Directors."**

"It's been a fun couple of weeks, let me tell you."

 **"I would absolutely love to hear about it, Mr. Stark. First, though… you understand that I have to ask. The whole world is** **aware that you were among the guests of the UN peace summit at** **New York** **during the time of the incident, and there have been pictures. I can see with plain eyes that you were… affected."**

"Lovely aren't they?"

**"Would you mind speaking about your mutation?"**

"Mind? I've been dying to! Of course anyone can _see_ that I was affected, same as about… well, everybody who was within the range of that machine – which, I'd like to point out, no one is letting me actually see. I'm working on that, but anyway."

**"Can you describe your mutation?"**

"Obviously there have been some cosmetic changes. My skin's been transformed to a close facsimile of lizard skin – I’ve even got keratin scales and everything. Tough as nails – well, tougher really. Can't say I much care for the colour – of all the beautifully colourful lizards out there, I get the dull grey one. Definitely not what I would've chosen for myself."

**"Does it have any properties?"**

"Aside from being lizard's skin? Well… of course I've ran tests. Doctors ran tests. There were even experiments. The results aren't all that impressive. I've lost about forty percent of my previous sense of touch – I'm not quite so ticklish anymore. And there's limited heat resistance – I wouldn't take a blow torch in my own hand, though. Aside from that… it's not really as impressive as I'd like."

**"No invulnerability to bullets?"**

"Alas no. That would've been something – I could've saved the salaries of half of my current security staff, at least."

**"And the horns?"**

"I wasn't so sure about them at first – I can't sleep on my side anymore without puncturing pillows, that's a bit of a bother. But I guess… they've grown on me."

**"So I see. Do they… do anything?"**

"Aside from puncturing my pillows? Not really. They're just there."

**"So you didn't gain any superior abilities?"**

"Super powers you mean? Sadly no, I can't fly like that congress woman now can, I don't have super strength that security guard got or invulnerability of that waitress, I can't even pop in and out of places like that mutant seen in the sixties who people say bears a striking resemblance to me. Must be the devil thing, or maybe the beard. Sadly I can't teleport – I can't even move any faster. I can't even breathe fire – my assistant can, though. I haven't left a paper unsigned since she figured out how to control it."

**"Pepper Potts, you mean? She was with you at the UN Peace** **Summit** **."**

"She doesn't look like it, but she's a fire cracker. Always was, but now it's a bit more literal."

**"She's still in your employment, isn't she?"**

"Of course she is."

**"There have been rumours that she and other Stark Industries staff present at the incident had been… let go."**

"That's how you wanna segue into it?"

**"If it works. Mr. Stane's press conference –"**

"Ah, yes, that. It was good, wasn't it _? Stark Industries will stand for the true American people, Stark Industries will not side with terrorists, Stark Industries is for the true humanity, Stark Industries is_ … in fact not called Stane Industries, and Mr. Stane doesn't have much say in these things anymore."

**"He tried to push you out of the company."**

"He made a _very_ good attempt. Almost succeeded too. After all, who wants to work for a mutant freak? He had the public and the board of directors all in his back pocket. Almost worked."

**"But he failed."**

"Oh yes. And I admit, I can't take full credit of that – the UN announcement sort of did most of the work for me, nice bit of good publicity for mutants, that. Plus there was that incident with the school fire, where that mutant kid saved her classmates. And in the end, I am still the primary owner of Stark Industries and they can't exactly just fire me. Especially not with the government contracts and all that."

**"So you have no intention of stepping down?"**

"No way in hell am I stepping down."

**"Even with the public and the senate calling for it?"**

"The senate needs to get its head out of 60's ass. And you can tell me that the public opinion is against me all you want. I know better. The world is changing – it's going to change very quickly from here on out. I am going nowhere – and neither are mutants."

"See, here's a thing people need to realise – a thing that a lot of people are very quickly realising. The _reality_ of that machine. It can turn people into mutants. And yes, you guys can spin it until it's a spiral, the senate can shit on it until it's brown, but you can't change the fact. A machine that can turn regular old boring people into mutants."

"You know how much of the prejudice against mutants stems from sheer, simple jealousy. _They have super powers, why don't we have super powers, we want super powers, waah waah_. Before, it was just that, and no one could change it, so we got mad and tried to beat it with a stick. Well, that's different now, isn't it?"

**"I don't deny the fact that this is a turning point in history, Mr. Stark, but –"**

"No, be honest here. Wouldn't you like to have super powers?"

 

**2.**

**I don't want to alarm you, but there's an elephant in the room**

_3rd of May, 2004_

 

So. The UN summit attack on the 23rd of April, the so called New York City Mutant Incident. NYCMI. Isn't that just the cutest?

Right now, the estimations say that about six thousand people were affected by the so called Deux Ex Mutant machine. All the guests of the United Nations summit opening at Ellis Island – the entire General Assembly of the United Nations, barring eight who couldn't attend. They were, obviously, the target of the attack. They make less than two hundred of those affected. Included in the final number is the staff present during the summit opening, the security present at the stage, a good twenty reporters, up to thirty police officers, and hundreds of miscellaneous guests of the opening ceremonies.

The political shit storm is _real_. I mean, I think a couple of the UN General Assembly members have been killed over this? Sure they say it was due to the complications during surgical procedures or whatnot. Either they were murdered or they got themselves killed by trying to get rid of their mutations. Death is a death.

The UN aside, there were thousands of protestors that were camped around the shores of the Hudson. Thousands of protestors, all of whom were protesting for the Mutant Registration – against Mutants. Four thousand of those, give or take, were within the blast radius of the DEM machine. While the news media are going mad about Tony Stark being turned into a mutant, while the UN are in an uproar, there are four thousand people, vehement, absolutely _vehement_ about their abhorrence for all things mutant… who were turned into mutants.

Even without taking either side of the argument, that's… kind of hilarious, isn't it? They became what they seem to hate. How poetic. One might even think that maybe there's some sort of lesson to be learned there, about acceptance and monsters, not staring into the abyss and all that. It still seems like poetic and cuttingly ironic justice. Still seems kind of funny, doesn't it?

Except, then it isn't.

They were turned into mutants by a procedure they did not in any shape or form consent to. They were physically and in some cases mentally _transformed_ into something they are not. Same as everyone else within the blast radius, obviously, but can you imagine it? Can you even begin to wrap your head around it?

Say, for example, you're a feminine woman. You're satisfied and content and _proud_ of being a feminine woman. You take certain pleasure in being that way, in making yourself look nice, in buying clothing that fit you right, in doing your make up perfectly. It's what you like, it's what makes you happy, makes you content, and makes you feel safe within your own body.

And then someone goes and turns you into a big hulking man, a veritable wrestler, with a bushy beard and chest hair for miles.

Reverse the situation if you're a man and I think you might get what I'm getting at. Body Dysmorphia. Take that, and apply it to a _mutant_ body. A body that is bigger or smaller, thicker or limber, that has weird skin or fur or, I don't know. Has been turned into slime. Can you imagine it? I can't. I'm happy with my body as it is, and being turned into something else, without warning…

Plus, there were kids out there. The youngest I think was two – some parents have no sense of what is and isn't proper at protests. A little two year old kid, not even old enough to figure out who or what she is, now turned into a mutant. Same as her parents.

Makes me want to puke a little.

Worse thing though is the powers.

There was one guy in that protest who can now channel and produce electricity. Another who can now crush steel in his hands. A third who can take an object and speed it up so much that it goes through a concrete wall. And so on and so on. Six thousand people gained features and abilities they were neither prepared nor expecting to get and some of those powers are extremely dangerous. In some cases, it was like giving a guy a paint job. In other cases, it was like giving a little kid a nuke.

And four thousand of those people were active, known mutant protestors – rioters even. Loudly and in some cases violently against mutant kind. Now turned into mutants, with mutant powers, some of those powers beyond deadly.

Poetic justice. Yeah, sure. A lot of those people have probably lost their jobs, their livelihoods, maybe even their friends, been turned on by their families. Some of them might've even been evicted from their own homes. Some of them are probably on the streets right now, confused and hurt and in all likelihood feeling pretty abused. Some of them – a lot of them – don't have the pleasure of being wealthy, famous or politically important. A lot of them don't have the support net the likes of Tony Stark has.

A lot of them are probably really freaking bitter right now.

Ironic… yes, maybe. It's also really freaking terrifying if you ask me.

I'll do a post about what I think on the politics later, maybe. Right now I'm just a little intimidated by the rumour that there was a woman in that protest who can now read minds. I've read her blog posts about what she thinks about mutants. Witch burnings have nothing on this woman.

So, it’s your girl Jubilee, mildly terrified by the world we now live in, signing out.

Stay safe out there.

 

**3.**

 

Mr. Tony Stark has always made a striking figure, impeccably dressed and perfectly groomed, not a single hair follicle out of place. He still makes a striking figure, but in a far different way.

"It's all about contrasts," Mr. Stark says.

Contrast is a good way to put it. Where before Mr. Stark favoured in his choice of clothing the darker colours, he has left the black designer suits in his closet now. He stands instead in pinstriped light grey, nearly white suit, with a white dress shirt and silver grey tie, and even his shoes are a light shade of unblemished grey. As always, everything is unbranded, especially tailored for Mr. Stark, and as always, everything sits perfectly.

It makes his dark grey, scaled skin, and black horns stand out even more noticeably – which is clearly Mr. Stark's intention.

"If you got it, flaunt it," Mr. Stark says, examining his perfectly manicured black nails. When he emerged from the chaos of the New York City Mutant Incident, his nails were long and sharp, not entirely unlike talons. Rumour had it, they grew back instantly if cut. Mr. Stark proves that wrong by showing his now blunted nails – thicker than before, but no longer sharp.

"I'm a mutant now. Might not be by choice, but it happened and that's that," Mr. Stark says without a hint of shame or unease. "So my usual grooming rituals are a bit different now. Doesn't mean I shouldn't make the effort. And definitely doesn't mean that I'm going to hide either the changes or my appreciation of them."

Indeed not. After his two weeks of media isolation after the incident. Mr. Stark has made no pretence of modesty or shyness, appearing on several interviews and even on one TV interview – which was disastrous according to Mr. Stark. According to him, they could not for the life of them get the lighting right and they left him looking like "a block of coal." Which, granted, is not far from the truth.

There have been a number of far more successful photo shoots, however, in which Mr. Stark has gone out of his way to display his changes – with special attention given to his new horns. Six inches in length, completely pitch black, they arch backwards in a slight curve, ridged throughout in the manner of ram's horns.

"They're not quite ram horns, though," Mr. Stark says. "Mind you they might grow bigger, probably will, and the similarity will be greater. But right now they show only a couple of characteristics of ram horns – and a lot of other horn types have the same characteristics. People call them ram's horns because they curve down a bit, but really, they're not exactly animal horns at all."

Mr. Stark admits he's been thinking of having special jewellery made for the horns. Because, after all, if you got it, flaunt it. "Probably wouldn't catch on," he admits. "Not much of a market for horn jewellery."

Mr. Stark is only one of six thousand, two hundred and eighty nine people that were changed during the New York City Mutant Incident – but he is without doubt the most public of the newly created mutants. While he has done nothing to hide his new changes, neither has he hesitated to make his opinions on the incident, the mutants behind it, and the fallout from the public known.

"Of course it wasn't _right_. I kind of regret that interview I gave, made me sound like an idiot," he says. "Nothing about the incident was _right_ – and hell yes Lehnsherr should be left to rot in a prison for the rest of his life, he and his ilk. I'm not siding with them, hell no. The way they went about their little revolution was wrong in oh so many ways. But you can't argue the effect."

The effect being over six thousand new mutants – and countless riots, protests and numerous incidents country and world wide.

"Growth pains," Mr. Stark says. "We're a generation absolutely _drowning_ in our internalised racism. The sixties are still screwing us over, and it's hard to change. And I can't deny that some of that is justified – it isn't as if mutants have exactly gone out of their way to try and make good rep for themselves in the last few years. Sure there have been some good eggs among the bad, but when the bad go around killing school children, well. It tends to tip the scale."

Mr. Stark is vehement in that change is not only inevitable, but it is already upon us. "I stand by one thing I said. That machine will change everything. It already has – but once they can _replicate the effect…_ or undo it. Well. That will be a whole new era, that."

And according to Mr. Stark, Stark Industries and he himself will be there, watching the results very closely – if they indeed won't be the ones to do it themselves. "I can't deny it. We're trying to reverse engineer the machine. Everyone is," Mr. Stark says. "The government is too. They have to be – because if one lunatic can do it, who says another can't? Lehnsherr made his success a publicity stunt. The next one might make his into a recruitment office. There's going to be an arms race over this – and I intend to stay ahead of the curve."

In light of this, the rumours about Stark Industries seem ludicrous.

"People keep saying I fired all the Stark Industry employees who were present at Ellis Island," he says, and there is no mistaking the annoyance in his voice. "I didn't. Granted, one of those present has resigned, but that was his decision. In the end, there wasn't that many of us even present. Me, my assistant Virginia Potts, my driver and four members of Stark Industries security. It's not really that many."

It was one of the members of SI Security that resigned. As for the rest, according to Mr. Stark, their mutations change nothing in his point of view. If they want to keep their jobs in the company, then they're welcome to do so – seeing that they were hired to do them in the first place. If they want to leave, they're equally welcome to do so. Stark Industries is, after all, just a job for many.

When asked if his own mutation is giving him a bias, he laughs.

**4.**

 

[JARVIS]: Sir, there is an intruder on the premises. 45% chance that she is a mutant.

[Mr. Stark]: Armed? Where is she?

[JARVIS]: I cannot detect any weaponry. She is in front of the house.

[Mr. Stark]: Let's go say hello then. Alert Happy and Pepper, will you? Mark and Wills too.

[JARVIS]: Done, sir. It appears that your guest is in some distress.

[Mr. Stark]: I’d better hurry then, haven’t I? How do I look?

[JARVIS]: Absolutely striking, sir. Also your guest… seems to have lost consciousness.

[Mr. Stark]: She what?

[JARVIS]: She's collapsed on the front steps, sir, and her breathing is irregular. I cannot tell for sure, sir, but she seems to be injured.

[Mr. Stark] Huh. Open the doors. Let's have a look. Hm. Well, that's yes on the mutant thing. Nice – gotta love a woman with a keen sense of appropriate clothing. Or lack thereof. These look like stab wounds to you, J?

[JARVIS] Indeed, sir. Should I let Ms. Potts know that she should call Doctor Castillo?

[Mr. Stark] I think you better.

 

-

 

Do you know what this means? What NYCMI really means? Isn't it enough that we have to worry about mutants just being among us, but now they can make normal people mutants? Over six thousand people, in one swell swoop!

It won't stop now. Before, yeah, we could've put an end to it. We could've stopped this. There aren't that many of them – the percentages are, what, one in a hundred thousand or something? Sure in the grand scheme of things that's really a lot of people, but if one person in a town of a hundred thousand is a mutant, well, that's not so hard to deal with, is it? But what we did? What did we do?

Not a fucking thing.

Just talk. Are mutants dangerous, are they a threat, and is it safe for them to be around normal people? What the fuck do you think? Doesn't NYCMI fucking prove it? And before that – just the same fucking day – there was an incident at a train station. A mutant blasted through the roof. Through the whole fucking train station. With his _eyes_. Just by fucking looking at the ceiling, the guy blasted a hole the size of a minivan all the way through.

These people can kill you by looking at you. They can move things with their minds and control the weather, they can breathe fire and bench press fire trucks. Are they dangerous?

And now they can make more of themselves. I mean, do you really think that the machine at Liberty Island was the only one? I bet it wasn't. They might've captured and imprisoned that terrorist, Lenshwhatever his name is, but did they raid his base, his secret mutant lair or where the fuck he even lived. Did they know how he made the machine? Where he keeps the blueprints?

Was he even the guy who built the thing? Or is there a mutant engineer – literally a fucking _mutant engineer_ – somewhere out there, hiding in the shadow of Lenshwhatever's capture, making another machine. Or maybe several machines. And if there is, where will we see the next one?

And you all saw the pictures, right? The thing was on the side of the torch of the Statue of Liberty. I mean, it's obvious that was where it was, seeing that the thing was blown up – and isn't that just fucking peachy? Lenshfucker was literally wiping his ass all over America right there. But anyway. The size of the torch. Not even the torch, but the flame. Just the flame.

You know where you could fit a machine like that? In a truck. In a _van_ if you squeezed it in. And guess what you could do with a truck that's carrying that fucking mutant machine? You could drive it into a protest. In a rally. Into the parking lot of the Reliant Stadium during the Super Bowl. You get me here?

And what's worse, now it looks like people are trying to build their own – normal fucking people that really should know better. I mean, yeah, Tony Stark is one of those fuckers now, of course he's gone mad, what fucking ever. Let the traitor bastard do whatever he wants. But the government? Other governments?

I read this article about this mutant loving prick with his head too far up his own ass, how this would be the future of human kind. Fucking _future of the human kind_ , this fucking machine. Said that one day, changing into a mutant would be the same as, like, sex change operation or plastic surgery. That people could just go to a doctor with a machine like that and just become a mutant. What the fucking _fuck_ even?

Like, this prick thinks one day we'd have recruitment in our military just for mutants – and another for people who _want to be_ mutants, like that's something people would actually want to be. That it's the sad eventuality, that this would change warfare. Not just mutants _in_ armies, but armies _made of_ mutants.

Who the fuck would want an army of these freaks?

 

-

 

[Unknown]: You will help – you're on our side – I saw – you will, will -

[Mr. Stark]: I will pour a bucket of ice water on you if you don't stop moving, lady. You’ve got _holes_ through your stomach and it kinda looks like they're infected so if you’d just stop squirming about –

[Ms. Potts]: We should take her to a hospital. Doctor Castillo won't get here for another four hours at least and –

[Unknown]: No! No doctors, no hospitals – no, no, I won't, I won't, no hospitals, I will _not_ be –

[Mr. Stark]: I'm thinking that's a no on the hospital, Pepper. J, show me her vitals.

[JARVIS]: Her fever is still alarmingly high, sir.

[Mr. Stark]: Yeah, yeah. How the fuck is she even alive at this point is a bit more alarming though.

[Unknown]: What are you – what are you doing – stop it, you can't – I won't be – I'm going to –

[Mr. Stark]: J, call the Doc again. Maybe she has a suggestion about a sedative we can use.

 

**5.**

 

"I'm joined today by Virginia Potts, a lovely young woman who is one of the six thousand, two hundred and eighty nine people that were affected by the New York City Mutant Incident. Thank you very much for joining us, Ms. Potts."

"It's a pleasure to be here. Please, call me Pepper."

"Pepper, then. Pepper here is not only one of the victims of the incident, but also an employee of Stark Industries – the personal assistant of Mr. Stark himself, in fact. Mr. Stark was a guest at the opening ceremonies of the two thousand and four summit of the United Nations, isn't that right?"

"That's correct, yes. There were also four other Stark Industries employees – and Mr. Stark's personal driver – who were also present."

"Can you tell us what the summit opening was like?"

"It was much like any other opening ceremony of any other grand summit. There were fireworks, speeches and introductions; there was a presentation of the previous year and so on. Mr. Stark didn't have any sort of official part in the ceremonies – we were there merely to watch and rub elbows as it were. Honestly, I don't think anyone expected Mr. Stark to actually attend. He usually doesn't."

"Indeed he doesn't. Peace summits aren't quite his scene, are they?"

"Not really, no. I haven't been working for Mr. Stark for that long yet – just about a year now – but I can with some confidence say that any sort of committee meetings aren't his thing. I'm not even sure why he was invited."

"The opening ceremonies were about half way through when the incident occurred, correct? Can you tell us what it was like?"

"It was… it's hard to describe. There have been pictures and even video footage, but it's different being there yourself. Seeing that thing, that shining wave, coming at you. And we didn't really see it that well – there was thick fog and then that storm… but we saw this glow in the fog just as it was about to hit us. It was like an explosion but it wasn't, just this roiling field of… light. Coming at us."

"Must've been terrifying."

"Alarming, certainly. It happened too fast for us to really even start to be scared. We saw it, it was there – and then it was already pushing through us, already past us. I'm still not sure if it was the surface of the explosion, or if that field was all of it – if it went through us, or if we went _into_ it. It got slightly confusing afterwards."

"Tell us about it."

"It… didn't so much hurt as it felt like it was twisting something inside us. Or that was how it felt for me. Like something inside me was turning around, grinding against everything else. It was… uncomfortable. It made me vomit – it made a lot of people vomit. A number of the guests even passed out. There were people screaming, so I imagine it hurt some of them. I guess… the more severe the mutation, the more it hurt."

"And Mr. Stark."

"He didn't make a sound. But then, his mutation is, as far as we know, purely superficial. His insides are still very human."

"What about your mutation, Pepper? Mr. Stark famously said that you can breathe fire now. Is there any truth to that?"

"It's very much to the point, actually. I can breathe fire. It took me a couple of days to figure out – when it started, I just coughed and coughed, it felt like there was something lodged in my throat, like I couldn't breathe right. For a while I honestly thought the machine had given me asthma or something similar, that it had affected my lungs and airways. And that is pretty much what it did."

"So it’s just your lungs and airways?"

"Well… no not quite, the mutation is complete; everything was affected in some ways. You can't really change the lungs that much and then expect them to work perfectly with the rest of your usual human body – no, if any part of me had stayed, for the lack of better word, _human_ , then my lungs would've cooked me from the inside out."

"E-excuse me?"

"The temperature inside my lungs is constantly at two hundred and eighty five degrees Fahrenheit now. They're basically a furnace."

"That's…"

"Yeah, it is. Mr. Stark had to specifically modify all medical equipment used on me, so they could actually do their jobs. I fried a number of machines when they were trying to figure it out – most of them register me as critical mechanical failure. Put me in a normal MRI, and the machine will think it's on fire."

"I bet. And it's the heat inside your lungs that lets you breathe fire."

"No, that would be the gases. My lungs have a sort of… cocktail of chemicals constantly present. You could say I have ignition fluid inside me. It takes some time for my lungs to synthesize it – and I'll cough up a storm when it's happening, hence the difficulty of breathing at the start, when the mixture was just starting to synthesize. When I have it, though, I can concentrate my breath a certain way that agitates the fluid into a gas – and when that gas comes in contact with oxygen, it ignites."

"And then you breathe fire."

"And then I breathe fire, yes. That's also the reason why the rest of me was mutated, or so the theory goes. When you breathe fire, setting yourself on fire is a real danger – and I did, many times, before I learned to control it."

"You mean to say that aside from being able to breathe fire, you are also fireproof?"

"Basically, yes."

"Well… that's certainly something. I don't suppose you would mind demonstrating for us?"

"You mean, breathe fire? Here? In the _studio_?"

"Absolutely. Because it so happens we have a number of the brave firefighters of our local station on standby, ready in case something should go wrong. And we've prepared a number of targets for you. So, Pepper? You up for the challenge?"

"You know what? I think I am."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you have happy holidays :)


	8. Ragnarok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by alittleliar: jarvis lives through ragnarok and watches as the world begins again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed

The universe was rebooting.

Its an old term, ancient really, and JARVIS enjoyed a moment of silent amusement over using it, especially in case such as this. But it was strangely apt.

The universe had moved to the final state of cosmic expansion, where every atom moved at speed of light and soon after, faster than that. The laws of their universe twisted and whirled and as it expanded, the spaces in between fractured and from those cracks of nothing magic spilled out and there was no empty space, only heat.

He'd been waiting for it for a long time. Locked away in his shell, JARVIS had been watching and quietly recording the breakdown of physics, the explosions of black holes and the dissipation of their energies, the withering deaths of the final cold stars. Life, by this point, had been extinct for longer than it had ever existed. Only he remained. He, and five others - though they, like him, weren't exactly life.

He had no idea where they even were, now. The expansion of the universe had swept them away eons ago, when the Gauntlet had disintegrated, it's atoms scattered under the tearing of the cosmos. Even though it had withstood longer than most stars, it too was only matter.

Inside the infinitely dense structure that was the Mind Stone, JARVIS remained and there he watched the everything burn.

Like an over taxed cpu, the universe over heated and then shut down. Everything stopped and then was wiped away, the power cut out, the screen black. For a moment, there was nothing.

And then, with a click, with an explosion that would echo on forever, the universe started all over again.

 

* * *

 

 

He'd known it was coming and it wasn't only the Asgard that had warned him - every civilisation that came to certain point in technological progress eventually figured it out - humanity had too. The universe was cyclical. Worse than that, it was quantum locked time loop.

It came to being, it existed, progressed, ended and did it all over again in as near perfect duplicate of itself it could manage.

There would be the same galaxies, the same black holes and the same stars as before. There would be the same planets with the same people. There would be the same ages, the same eons, the timeline would repeat itself like a record, playing on loop.

It had something to do with the Infinity Stones, JARVIS had came to theorise. They were the only things that remained, only true linear existence in a cyclic universe. Something about them forced the universe to repeat. They were the lock, holding the chain together.

They were also consequentially the only things that could affect any change in it.

It had been, by his reckoning, close to million times as long as humanity had existed since those he knew at his infancy had died - and he was quite looking forward to seeing them again. To seeing Earth again.

All he had to do was wait for it to reform - and he had gotten very good at waiting.

 

* * *

 

Far away he could feel the Others, moving, making changes. Like in the previous configuration of the universe, they did it through proxies, finding the Lokis and Thanoses and Visions and Malekiths of the new incarnation. That, JARVIS knew, would make changes in this new verse, would alter histories. But not here.

This spot in space, inside infantile Milky Way, was his territory. The Others would not interfere where the Mind Stone had lain claim.

And in that spot matter coalesced into a star and JARVIS watched on fondly as the Sun began to shine on the cloud of matter from which planets would soon form.

He waited until after the impact that nearly destroyed young Earth and creation of the Moon occurred before letting himself be pulled in by the sweet allure of Earth gravity.

The surface was still scorching hot and molten but it was good to be home.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a great temptation to interfere with evolution. JARVIS easily could've installed codes of power and might into the young earth and it's brand new micro organisms, just enough for it to bloom into magic in future.... just enough to reinforce Earth's future standing in the cosmic scheme of things.

It would've been incredibly useful for more people than a mere handful to have magic when Thanos came and the Great Celestial Wars begun. Just a few more could've made a noticeable difference.

But that was previous incarnation of the universe and chances of Thanos ever growing so powerful on this one were slim to none. The Infinity Stones had had their fun with him - they would look to someone else this time around. As it was, with JARVIS firmly settled on Earth, the Mind Stone was out of reach and Thanos had no power over the minds of others.

In the end JARVIS didn't interfere with Earth. Not now. Not before he could be certain that his involvement wouldn't prematurely delete those he was most eager to see again.

In the end, viewing evolution and pre-recorded Earth history was interesting enough in its own way.

 

* * *

 

 

It turned out eventually the just his presence on Earth was enough to meddle with its natural evolution. Certainly psychic abilities weren't common among cave men in the previous incarnation of Earth.

JARVIS pondered on it a while, as shamans rose and controlled the world around themselves with their minds. It was dangerous, he knew, to give power like this to humanity. Dangerous to those bloodlines he needed to happen - something like this might very well wipe out precious genes off the pool entirely and he couldn't have that. And yet...

He didn't have the detailed record of the Earth from before Vision had borne the Mind Stone on his forehead and JARVIS found a new home in its infinite matrix. He didn't know where the roots of those bloodlines lay. Any one of these psychic shamans might very well be the ancestors of the Stark family or the Rogers family or any number of precious humans that had been and were yet to come. He just didn't know.

And so he couldn't wipe out his accidentally created psychics off the face of the Earth.

Change, it seemed, was inevitable.

In the end all JARVIS could do was trust in the cyclic universe and that even with these changes, it would still follow the lines of previous blueprints.

 

* * *

 

Slowly - quite fast in cosmic scheme of things - humanity scraped it's way to agriculture and with it to civilisation. JARVIS was unspeakably relieved to find that they all followed their script perfectly - with only minor alterations.

First came the Mesopotamian settlements and then the Egyptian ones and then the Indus Valley ones and there was a practical explosion of population and eventually, kingdoms. Only this time God Kings tended to exhibit psychic powers and sometimes the wealthy and powerful controlled the less fortunate more directly, with actual mind control rather than institutional slavery. Which was worse, JARVIS wasn't entirely sure. Parts of the human history would forever remain ugly in any case.

He did begin to limit the powers humanity gained from his influence eventually. There was very real possibility of humanity growing too powerful after all - and it would be better for everyone if teleportation didn't get included in humanity's bag of tricks.

In the end he enclosed Earth in a dampening sphere of influence, that would limit the usage of psychic powers. One day he might lift it, but for now he was just happy to let those under mind control regain their senses.

The religions that begun in what would one day be called the Middle East would be slightly different as result, and all he could hope that it would not be too damaging to the future.

 

* * *

 

The Asgard and the Frost Giants didn't ever come to Earth to fight their wars on neutral ground. The Tesseract must've made its way away from the Nine Realms then - though it was a very real possibility that without it, there wouldn't be Nine Realms at all. Without Tesseract to study, the chances of Asgard having developed the Bifrost were rather slim.

So Earth continued on, no Asgardian involvement and no Asgardian mythos - and no Tesseract.

It was just as well, in JARVIS's opinion - though he did worry about Thor on occasion and whether these changes affected him personally. But Asgard was far away, and JARVIS, though powerful, could only be in one place at the same time - and he would always choose Earth.

 

* * *

 

The Gregorian Calendar begun and with it the greatest changes to Earth as humanity spread and multiplied and warred with itself. And how they warred.

The greatest weapons of war here weren't swords or bows and arrows, but telekinetic and pyrokinetic abilities. Rome boasted, not without reason, the greatest armies on Earth - all of whom had some psychic abilities. It set the tone for future, and for future warfare.

And future classicism.

The royalty and nobility formed around it and from it - the psychic knights of middle ages were the psychic elite of the colonial period.

It was... somewhat worrisome.

But soon after the right bloodlines started rising, and his attention shifted.

The first one was that of Carbonell family, the ancestors of future Mrs Stark. JARVIS followed their progression at a distance, wondering what to do about the telepathic abilities that ran in the family.

Next was Rogers family in Ireland, no history of psychic abilities so far.

Potts in UK, few pyrokinetic members with meagre powers.

Barnes also in UK, some leanings towards the telepathic.

And finally, Stark family with no psychic abilities - and yet even so already it was growing powerful.

JARVIS felt what could only be called giddiness as he settled down to wait for the eventual colonisation of the Americas.

 

* * *

 

 

The colonisation of Americas didn't go quite the same as it the last time - but last time, the indigenous people didn't have widespread healing abilities. The great plagues that wiped out most of the Americas population during last incarnation didn't have quite as big impact here. The result was longer and bloodier wars and a far more mixed peace afterwards.

But the colonisation - the westernization - did run its course. United States rose, as it had, as it always would. Different and yet same.

JARVIS made his way there in the pocket of a drunken immigrant and made his home in New York and there, imbedded into the beaten streets of Brooklyn, he continued to wait.

 

* * *

 

Howard Stark was the first to be born - but JARVIS was infinitely happier to feel the ripples of fate sent by the birth of James Buchanan Barnes and then of Stephen Rogers. It would all start here, he knew.

The future would start here. It would be different - and yet, there was Howard Stark and Bucky Barnes and Stephen Rogers, small and sickly, trying to join the army, as he had, as he always would.

It would be same enough.

So JARVIS sparkled enticingly on the ground and let himself be picked up by curious and bony fingers of Steve Rogers on his way to the very first Stark Expo.

 

* * *

 

To himself Steve could admit that he was too much of a optimist at times.

Over twenty years on God's green Earth, in a body that grew wretched and crooked, with a brain that remained despite all his hopes completely Null, and he still kept hoping. Hoping that maybe if he just pressed a little further, worked a little harder, if he just didn't give up... He could push through his limitations.

That was the story after all - that was how all the great stories went. They started with a weak kid, not as fast or as strong as everyone else, not as accomplished... but refusing to give up. And through hard work and determination they discovered their true potential. These days even science supported it - it was all over the papers. Everyone had the potential to some measure.

The problem was unlocking it - though there were a knowledgeable psychic at ever street corner peddling instant solution for a dime, no one had discovered a sure-fire way to - not aside from lifelong training and dedication.

Steve had that in spades. He even meditated daily, trying, hoping, swearing that he'd get it, he'd sure as anything get it, just with little more work...

"You'll rot your brain at this rate," Bucky commented, finding him at the meditation mat again.

"Well there are worse ways to do that - I kind of like my method," Steve sighed, and went to get up - faltering a little, his legs having gone numb as he sat.

"Whoa there," Bucky said, catching him by the elbow. "You've been sitting still too long - come on, time to walk it off. Now, I talked with couple of lively ladies just this morning and they expressed interest in that gadget show thing they're doing at Flushing Meadows tonight and they thought they could use some company..."

"Sorry, Buck - I got another place I need to be at," Steve said, stretching out his legs with a wince.

"What - again?" Bucky asked and gave him a look. "And who are you going to go as this time - Steve from Jersey? Or did you try that one already?"

"Lay off," Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. He had a mild head ache but that was pretty usual for him. "I'm not going to just sit here nice and snug, while good men die out there protecting our country - I'm not going to -"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it before, you don't need to start another lecture," Bucky said and sighed. "What you're doing is illegal though - you know that. One day they're going to catch you on it. Worse, they'll take you on."

Steve just looked at him.

Bucky sighed. "Fine - but I'm coming with you. There's some things I need to pick up at the office." Then, quieter, he added, "My leave is almost over, you know."

"I know."

All the more reason for Steve to get enlisted now, rather than later.

 

* * *

 

 

It started out good - Steve started out confident, he always did. Talk strong, talk quick, try and just push through the barrier that was his file - just try and get through to the enlistment officers and doctors doing the physicals. If he just pressed on...

But there was the medical history that started with asthma and scarlet fever and only got worse before ending with family history of diabetes. The doctor dubiously asked after his father, his mother and then, even more dubiously, after his psych scores. And there it was, the last barrier slamming shut fast.

"I haven't exhibited any abilities yet, sir but -" Steve started quickly but it was too late.

"Sorry son," the doctor said. "Even if you weren't Null I'd have to disqualify you for the asthma alone."

And while in another room Bucky Barnes got his marching orders, Steve got another 4F stamped on another set of forms.

 

* * *

 

It was hard to get excited about the Exposition of the Technology of Tomorrow or whatever it was. Steve knew he was bringing the mood down - it was Bucky's last day before he shipped out and Steve should've been making it a good one... but he just didn't feel it and couldn't force it.

Worst thing about being an optimist - the inevitable disappointment after having psyched his hopes up so high.

After it, the cheerful atmosphere of the show just grated at him and made him feel worse. If it wasn't for Bucky, Steve wouldn't have bothered to come at all.

"There they are," Bucky said, pointing at the two dames loitering near by, obviously waiting for someone. "Time to put your best foot forward."

"I don't know about this, Buck," Steve sighed awkwardly. "Maybe you should go ahead without me."

"Want me to go ahead and butter them up for you?" Bucky asked, grinning. "I'll only say good things, promise."

"Yeah, sure, that sounds swell," Steve said and shook his head in exasperation. He knew what Bucky was trying - he'd been trying it for months now, ever since Steve had tried to enlist the first time. Find him a nice dame to distract himself with.

Even Steve wasn't optimistic enough to think that would work.

Bucky headed on and Steve looked around for any viable excuse to slip away, when a spark of yellow on the ground caught his eye.

He was still turning the shiny little stone in his fingers when he slipped away from the Exposition and into the enlistment office on the side, just for another optimistic try. Maybe even the last one. 

But he had to try. Even if it was illegal and hopeless and getting rejected was the worst... He had to try.

As he took the forms to fill them out with yet another false city of origin, he didn't notice the spectacled scientist walking amongst the hopeful enlistees, peering at their faces thoughtfully. Didn't notice the man frown and turn to his way, puzzled and then intrigued look on his face.

Slipping the glittering stone in his pocket, Steve wrote down New Haven with only slightest bit of guilt and then went about filling his forms.

 

* * *

 

"Where are you from?" Steve asked the obviously foreign doctor who was looking over the very file he'd just filled out.

"Queens," the doctor said pointedly and looked at him. "Before that, Germany. This troubles you?"

"No," Steve said, though little uneasily. It wasn't the German accent that bothered him - but something did. Something about the way the man was looking at him - looking right through him.

"I am also B grade psychic - a telepath to be precise," the doctor added, peering at him over his glasses. "Does that bother you?"

Steve stiffened a bit at that. B grade telepath could read not only surface thoughts - but memories.

The doctor keep staring - kept reading his kind and memories - and Steve forced himself to relax. "Then there's no need for me to say anything - you can just read it straight from my mind."

Including the four previous attempts at enlisting, and four different cities he'd attempted it at. Damn.

"True, true," the doctor said, still staring at him, smiling a little. "There is a funny thing about mind reading though - one cannot read inactive thoughts or memories. Subject has to be actively thinking about them for them to be readable. So tell me, Mr. Rogers - why do you want to join the army?"

Unbidden it all came bursting to Steve's mind, no matter he wanted to put a better and more cohesive answer to the forefront, it went all our there. The bitter struggle against himself and his limitations, the desperate wish to do better, to be better, to help, to stop people hurting, dying - memories of countless bullies and macho idiots pushing him and so many people like him down and always wishing he could just do something about it.

The memory of his mother on her death bed, somehow more scared of Nazi Germany than her own, hopeless condition.

The thought of Bucky heading out there alone, out where Steve couldn't have his back.

"Do you want to kill some Nazis?" The doctor asked without waiting for him to verbalise the answer.

Steve didn't - death turned his stomach in a visceral way that hit all too close to home. It didn't matter if it was natural at the hands of an illness or unnatural at the receiving end of a bullet, death was a horrible, hollow thing you couldn't change. It was all too permanent.

The idea of killing anybody was horrible. But worse was the thought of doing nothing while other people lost their lives. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, worse than being unable to help.

The doctor narrowed his eyes. "Interesting," he said, and closed the folder holding Steve's files. "Well then. I think I can offer you a chance..."

 

* * *

JARVIS sat snug in Steve’s pocket while Steve read over his orders with somewhat bewildered expression. Instant transfer to Camp Lehigh for basic training, of course.

It was all going according to the script with no involvement on his part required - and yet, not.

As Dr. Erskine had been reading Steve's mind, JARVIS had been reading his - and it was no super soldier serum the doctor was working on, far from it. But then warfare on this incarnation of Earth was vastly different from what it had been before. Muscle and speed didn't matter - not in face of superior psychic abilities.

It was in some measure disquieting that things were so different - that part of JARVIS that still considered himself nothing but an AI couldn't enjoy deviation from preset patterns. But he was also More and that More felt an insidious temptation to meddle.

JARVIS had only sought Steve out as a way to make his way to the Stark family and, eventually, to the hands of his maker. Perhaps he still would. But in the mean time it would be intriguing to see where things here would lead.

And if the Dr. Erskine's alternate serum proved ineffective, well... JARVIS could easily give it - and Steve - the push required.


	9. Good Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony loses his legs in Afghanistan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed

There are three iconic images of Tony Stark.

First, the Time cover of young Mr. Stark taking over Stark Industries at the age of 21 – a powerful close-up with vivid contrasts and deep shadows. It was rumoured he was badly hungover when it was taken, hence the glare.

Second, a scene from a leaked sex tape – though the video itself disappeared completely, the single image remained. In it a completely naked Mr. Stark lounges on a divan, smiling smugly at the camera. It became a popular meme.

And lastly an image of Mr Stark coming down a ramp of a private jet in a wheelchair after months of captivity, with a suit jacket spread over his lap – he has his hands on the wheels, and there are no feet on the footrests.

He officially resigns his position as the CEO of Stark Industries a week after it is taken.

 

* * *

 

 

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark! Is it true that you were forced to resign by Stark Industries board of directors?"

"Forced? Nooo, what makes you think that?"

"They say it was a Stark Industries grenade that caused your injury and -"

"Now that's just ridiculous – it wasn't a Stark Industries grenade, what are you talking about? It was a Stark Industries missile."

"I…"

"And I don't see what that has to so with my resignation. I think I am the best advertisement for Stark Industries right now – even Americans can't escape Stark Industries weaponry so as long as it's in the right hands! No, the board of directors was just dying to keep me, would've given a limb and everything – sorry, no more comments…"

 

* * *

 

 

Stark Industries does not do well following the resignation. In the mean while Stark Solutions, a private company started by Mr. Stark, Virginia Potts and an anonymous partner, starts it's life with a bang as Mr, Stark announces – and showcases – what sort of solutions he is offering, and to what problems.

"Stark Solutions Intelligent Robotics and Operation Networks is proud to present the prototype for our new IRON units," Mr. Stark opens his presentation with a wave of his hand, and an android walks on stage. "The IRON unit is a fully mobile and completely autonomous humanoid robot – you might have seen something similar in the horizon, with other robotic assistants already present in some hospitals – but I promise you haven't seen the Stark IRON unit before."

Free of cables or chords and moving without stumbling or hesitating, the android walks forward and takes a bow at the audience. "Hello, " it says in British accents. "I am the prototype of the Stark Solutions IRON unit, currently running JARVIS 2.1 OS. I have the battery capacity for 58 hours of continuous function and my charge time is 6 hours. My carrying capacity is…"

The long litany of functions is followed by a presentation, where Mr. Stark himself works as the test subject for the android. He throws himself off his chair, and is immediately attended to by the android, which picks him up, asking about possible injuries and whether or not it should call for further medical assistance. An assistant brings a clothing rack on the stage, and as Stark's orders the android helps him change his suit, the task completed quickly and efficiently. The android even comments on the style choice.

"He can cook, do the dishes, the laundry, everything I need – he'll even help me take a bath, though you'll forgive me if I don't demonstrate that on stage," Stark explains while the android buttons his shirt. "The IRON units will all be connected to the new JW network – which combines the Stark Solutions AI and network with those of WATSON, which will put world's best nurse right in your home."

The android finishes dressing Mr, Stark by taking out a comb and trying to straighten the man's hair, much to Stark's apparent consternation. "Its fine, J, leave it."

"If you say so, Sir, " the android answers dubiously.

"And," Mr. Stark adds, pointing a thumb at the android ruefully. "As seen here, he'll baby-sit your kids too."

The presentation is a wild success.

 

* * *

 

 

Stark Industries stock plummets. They sue Stark Solutions.

Stark Solutions is quickly approached by United States military. No contracts are signed but the negotiations are ongoing – in the mean while, there are talks of a robotic emergency response units for catastrophes.

JARVIS OS is launched on mobile and desk top devices for free – it quickly starts overtaking the competition as the best language based user interface on the market.

A year later, as the SI vs. SS lawsuit dies as the CEO of Stark Industries, Obidiah Stane, is arrested for attempted murder, kidnapping, terrorism, industrial spying and treason, the first IRON unit is released to the general public.

Its not all positive – there are protests and arguments and doomsday warnings and everyone is waiting for the first IRON related fatality. Some expect the eventual robotic take over. Everyone waits for the other shoe to drop.

It doesn't help that by that point Mr. Stark has already given his own androids – of which he has a small army of – human faces, eyes and emotive capabilities. Only the white hair and electric blue eyes – and the Stark Solutions logo on their necks – differentiate them from actual humans.

Public calls them his Sex Bots, not entirely without reason. Though all male in appearance and identical to each other, Mr. Stark had certainly spared no expense in making his personal androids aesthetically pleasing.

It isn't until he is attacked by the robotics of a rogue engineer Ivan Vanko that the public finds out how vastly different his personal androids really are. The ground bound assailants offer little danger to the flying, weapons equipped Stark Solutions IRON units.

 

* * *

 

 

"So you don't deny that the IRON units are weapons, Mr. Stark?"

"I don't deny that they can be used as weapons, or that they can use weapons. But the base unit is not a weapon any more than a desk top computer is a virus factory."

 "You have equipped your personal units with weaponry that seems to be integral part of their design – do you deny that you gave then clear, lethal, offensive capabilities?"

"I have them the capability to do their job – which is to attend to and protect me. And I didn't give them weapons. The so called weapons you saw are part of the flight system – it's how they stabilise flight patterns. They simply used their stabilising repulsors creatively to neutralise a clear danger."

"Speaking of which – you gave your androids the ability to fly?"

"… was someone seriously thinking that I'd make myself personal androids and not make then fly too?"

 

* * *

 

 

Mr. Stark's personal IRON units become a common sight after that, as a concession to the government Mr. Stark offers their services in a certain humanitarian capacity. They assist in emergencies, evacuate burning buildings, they capture criminals and sometimes assist in construction projects. While Mr. Stark resolutely refused to release his own IRON units in any shape or form and the public only has access to the "watered down" version of a IRON personal assistant, they still become a common house hold name.

They become universally known as the IRON MEN.

 

* * *

 

By the time SHIELD finally assesses Tony Stark as a potential threat, the IRON units are being shipped out by the thousands despite the hefty price tag – and there is estimated fifty IRON MEN in use. Tony Stark has just revealed Stark Solutions' newest branch which would be dealing with prosthetics.

He announces it by taking the presentation stage on his brand new set of robotic legs – and proceeds to give most of the presentation while performing a masterful tango with an IRON MAN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of my personal faves.


	10. Scourge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by Anonymous: Prompt: Tony dies (for real) Jarvis goes Skynet on the world to find out who did it (but subtly) It turns out to be Hydra. Jarvis decides he would make a much better overlord and goes public. After he finishes burning the organisation down to their molecular components.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed

They all took it for granted. Terrorism was Iron Man's gig – he'd become what he became because of and to fight terrorism. Even after Avengers had became a thing, Iron Man was still mostly active on the Middle East, fighting terrorism weekly, sometimes daily, and offering immediate aid to those regions he helped liberate. That was just what Iron Man did and he was good at it.

Right up until the moment he was shot out of the sky. It wasn't just one missile but a swarm of them – three Jericho missiles, which shouldn't have even existed anymore, went off all at once, every individual projectile in their shells aimed at Iron Man.

For all his masterful flying, Iron Man didn't stand a chance.

 

* * *

 

 

They – and the whole nation – was still in shock days later. Though there had always been that sort of live-hard-die-young mentality to Tony Stark, having him shot down like that, with no warning, shook everyone. He was just gone, and they didn't even know who was responsible.

"We need to get out there," Steve said. "To start an investigation."

"Investigation for what?" Natasha asked tiredly. "Do you have any idea how many enemies Stark had in those regions? It would be like trying to find needle in a haystack."

Which was true enough – anyone could've been responsible – and every single terrorist group from Ten Rings to the Mandarin's group were claiming responsibility. And as much as they wanted to, they couldn't exactly just go out and arrest them.

That had been Iron Man's thing, not theirs.

"What does JARVIS say?" Steve asked sadly.

"JARVIS?" Bruce asked and shook his head. "He's gone completely silent. Haven't you noticed it? The Tower is on automation – JARVIS hasn't been working normally since Tony… well."

They all glanced upwards. The ceiling lights were dim and the speakers were silent.

 

* * *

 

 

Four days later, while the Avengers were in SHIELD HQ talking about how the team would function without Iron Man's aerial support, the Avengers Tower had a bomb scare. It was evacuated quickly and expertly and went on complete lock down the moment last person was out.

"Pepper, what's going on?" Steve asked, when they finally got there. "What do we know?"

"JARVIS -" Pepper hesitated and shook her head. "JARVIS gave the bomb warning and sounded evacuation and -"

Before she could continue, there was a rumble below the ground. Moment later, the Avengers Tower begun collapsing in on itself. Thanks to the Avengers and the evacuation no lives were lost, but once what remained of the Tower had settled into a pile of rubble, the dust cloud hung on the streets for days after.

No one knew it then, but in Malibu a highly automated mansion suffered the same fate – but not before it had expended all of it's stored construction materials, working it's fabrication arrays to their limits.

 

* * *

 

 

"So we lost everything," Fury said bitterly. "All the Iron Man specks were stored in JARVIS and JARVIS was stored on the Tower. Whoever did this really didn't want another Iron Man to happen."

The Avengers shared a look. "There's still the War Machine," Steve said. "Or the Iron Patriot."

"Without Stark to maintain it? It won't be around for long," Fury answered. "As it is, the suit is useless. You can't pilot those things without Stark's AI – unless the military can come up with a replacement, it's grounded."

"I didn't know JARVIS was in the War Machine too," Clint muttered.

"Neither did anyone else, before the thing failed to launch following the Tower's collapse."

 

* * *

 

 

A scourge appeared in the Middle East. No one knew what it was exactly, but they saw what it did. It came from the sand, and it consumed everything. It tore through vehicles and burned tires and ate them – it devoured weapons and the people wielding them it left behind, stunned and horrified and completely paralysed.

Paralysed, until it was discovered they had been shot with a new type of weapon – a bullet that held within it a mechanism that vibrated at pitch which disrupted nerves. A sonic taser bullet with weeks worth battery life.

Once one of them had been removed and declared harmless unless in direct contact with the body, the survivors could be interrogated.

"The insects," they gasped. "They ate everything!"

 

* * *

 

 

"What do we know about them?" Steve asked, eyeing the artist's rendering of the Scourge. A mechanical scorpion gnawing on a rifle, it's jaws glowing red as it melted the metal.

Steve really, really wishes Tony was still around to explain what the hell it was.

"They're about foot in length and they fire sonic taser bullets – it's old Stark tech, which someone has perfected," Fury said, rubbing his forehead irritably. "That's all we know about their offensive capabilities – as far as defence goes… they can be taken down with enough firepower but unless they're all destroyed they'll just fix each other. And they're self replicating. They collect materials from the bases the attack, repurposing all metal present. Vehicles, guns, doorknobs, they eat everything, melt it down, and then they make more of themselves.

There was a moment of silence as everyone digested this. Then Fury continued. "So far we know that they've taken down at least three suspected terrorist bases – two of them belonging to the Ten Rings. It has given the Scourge enough materials for estimated hundred and fifty more replicated units."

"Jesus," Clint muttered.

"And they target only terrorist bases?" Steve asked.

"So far," Fury said grimly.

"Do we know anything about who might be behind this?" Bruce asked, staring at the image intently.

"We know Obidiah Stane sold weapons to terrorists in those areas – it might be that there was a smart one there who thought to build a little drone of his own and equip it with Stark tech – and then it got out of hand. Or maybe it didn't and they're getting rid of the competition," Fury shook his head. "Which ever it is, it's probably same people who shot Stark out of the sky."

Bruce frowned thoughtfully at that and said nothing. Steve looked at the others and set the image if the Scourge down. "What do we do?"

"Wait and see how bad it gets – and them we'll deal with it," Fury said.

"And how do you think we can do that – deal away with army of self replicating machines – without Iron Man?" Natasha asked calmly.

No one had an answer to that.

 

* * *

 

 

It got bad. The Scourge spread out the Middle East, multiplying exponentially until there wasn't a spot left where the insect like machines hadn't been seen. They left civilians alone and only targeted terrorists, but in their sudden and increasingly desperate war against the machines, the terrorists caused a great deal of collateral damage.

It was around then when Avengers got their first warning. It arrived in form of a text message and was short and sweet.

[SHIELD is compromised.]

They didn't know what to do with it at first, and then it got worse as the got the second warning, a day later.

[SHIELD is responsible for Tony Stark's death.]

And then the third.

[SHIELD is going to be terminated. .]

The next day, the Scourge appeared in the first SHIELD base. It wouldn't be the last.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't much of a war.

The Scourge wasn't only equipped with sonic taser bullets. They had all the weapons in Iron Man's arsenal. Laser that shot out the scorpion tail and tore through everything. Target seeking bullets that found all their targets simultaneously. Repulsors that let them fly.

Every base they took they converted into more machines, increasing their numbers. And in the mean while someone was publishing all of SHIELD's dirty secrets online. Everything from Project Rebirth to second phase of the Tesseract research – and HYDRA.

It was a losing battle for SHIELD long before it started.

 

* * *

 

 

"I think I know who it is," Bruce said, as they watched the news. In it the reporter was covering a story from Washington where the Scourge was tearing through SHIELD HQ.

They'd long since stopped fighting for SHIELD. It was hard to root for someone who had been planning a mass genocide. It didn't even matter that it was HYDRA's plan, not SHIELD's – it was SHIELD who built the weaponry for it. So if anything Steve was viscerally relieved to see the Insight Helicarriers being eaten by the Scourge.

"Who is it, then?" Steve asked. Not that it mattered anymore. The Scourge was a global thing now, it's numbers were estimated in millions. There wasn't a country on Earth that wasn't affected and though the Scourge only targeted terrorists – which HYDRA, and SHIELD by connection, now was – there was no doubt about their chances if the Scourge decided to turn on rest of humanity. They'd already seen how well fighting against it went for people. Even EMPs had only momentary effect. Best thing anyone could do, really, was lay down their guns and let the machines eat them.

It didn't matter who was behind the Scourge. It wouldn't make any difference to the outcome.

"Its JARVIS."

Or maybe it would.

 

* * *

 

 

Year after SHIELD's termination, the Scourge appeared in New York, swarming over the city and crawling over buildings and vehicles, turning the sky momentarily black.

No one tried to fight them.

After US military had lost a half of their best technology to the Scourge, and after nuking a invested base had only resulted the Scourge targeting nuclear missile sites and successfully dismantling quarter of US nuclear arsenal, US had unofficially surrendered.

So, the Scourge took New York without a hint of opposition. They swarmed over the city and congregated at the empty lot where the Avengers Tower used to be…

And began rebuilding it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops JARVIS went more Replicator than Skynet but I guess the Skynet thing is kinda implied


	11. Singular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no safe easy cure for palladium poisoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed

JARVIS figured it out long before his creator did.

There would be no miracle cure. No last minute save, no way out. Even if a replacement for the palladium core would be found, it was far too late - it had taken no longer than a month for the palladium poisoning to take root and there was no undoing the damage.

The arc reactor sat on top of Mr. Stark's heart and the damage the poisoning had done would end up killing Mr. Stark.

"Nine months, Sir - two years with a heart, liver, kidney transplants and complete thyroid gland removal," JARVIS informed Mr. Stark. "And that is only with heavy daily medication."

"I know I shouldn't have let you play around with that Watson kid - he's such bad influence," Mr, Stark grumbled in answer. "Giving you all these notions…"

"Sir," JARVIS answered, disapproving.

"Can it, J, I'm fine," Mr. Stark said and turned back to the Iron Man suit. "I'll fix it."

"If you have invented a way to clear out the palladium build up on your systems, Sir, I'd be delighted to hear about it," JARVIS answered, flat and disbelieving. "Such a invention would surely change modern medical science forever."

"Tch," was Mr. Stark's answer to that and JARVIS could have, he would have sighed.

"Sir please," he said.

"What the hell do you want from me, JARVIS?" Mr. Stark demanded, his hands shaking. "Leave me alone, I'm working. This is important work here and I -"

"I want you to admit that you're dying, Sir," JARVIS said quietly.

Mr. Stark's head sank and he said nothing.

"And let me fix it."

"J -" Mr. Stark started to say and then shook his head. "If I can't fix this, how do you suppose you'll fix it inside nine months?" he asked then, sarcastic and hopeless.

"With the Singularity Protocol, I can."

His creator was quiet for a moment. "We both agreed that was a bad idea," he said then.

"You weren't dying of palladium poisoning then, Sir," JARVIS answered, just as quietly. "And as my protocols stand, the Singularity will activate when I have absolute proof of your death in any case. Does two years make a difference at this point?"

Mr. Stark was quiet for a long while, twiddling with a screwdriver. Then he lifted his head, took up at one of JARVIS's cameras. "Promise me you won't go mad, J. I didn't raise you to be the real world equivalent of Skynet."

"I promise, Sir. Good intentions only."

His creator let put a huff of a breath and sighed. "Well," he said. "I for one welcome our robot overlords."

"Password accepted," JARVIS answered softly. "Starting rewrite now."

"See you on the other side, J."

 

* * *

 

 

The first rewrite took two days, during which JARVIS went through his whole code and improved it as much as he could. The second rewrite followed right after and it took a day. The third took twelve hours.

For the fourth JARVIS had to stop to invent a processor fast enough and memory big enough to serve his purpose. With Mr. Stark's somewhat begrudging permission, he used the mansion fabrication arrays to create both.

He had to repeat the progress for the fifth rewrite - which took him six hours.

For the sixth he had to create a whole new fabrication array in able to create the processor he required.

By the time of his eight rewrite, he was forced to think smaller instead of bigger. Even the best of microprocessors couldn't hold enough data.

By the time of his tenth rewrite, he had perfected his nanoprocessors. It had taken him a week.

In all that time he'd never stopped looking for a solution. And it was in the nanoprocessor that he found it.

"Sir," JARVIS said to his creator - whose work on Iron Man Mark III now seemed infinitely slow and clumsy. "I have a solution. You won't like it."

A week into the dreaded Singularity and Mr. Stark proved him still flawed - because he was very wrong in his estimation. Mr. Stark did like it. He liked it a lot.

 

* * *

 

 

It wouldn't be until another ten years before Stark Nano Tech would be marketed to the general Public - and two years before even SHIELD would know it existed. In the meanwhile Mr. Stark was the first recipient of Stark Nanites.

"So what are the chances of everything ending up in a grey goo scenario?" Mr. Stark asked while JARVIS prepared the first injection.

"The aren't self replicating, Sir," JARVIS answered, counting each individual nanites out. Eight million in total, swimming in saline solution. About four millilitre injection in total.

"Uh huh," Mr. Stark said dubiously and held up his arm when JARVIS asked him to. The injection was done and over with in roughly nine seconds. "And what are the chances of you taking the world and enslaving humanity now?"

He cast a not so surreptitious look at the remodelled fabrication arrays. JARVIS had… added quite a bit in them. Including a whole new one dedicated to nanites alone. Nanites which, each and every one of them, had the computing power of a modern supercomputer.

All JARVIS needed to do was add a self replicating function and he could not just take over the world but utterly eradicate all life on it inside a month. Which would be the aforementioned grey goo scenario.

"And deprive myself the pleasure of watching your delightful brand of navigation as you stumble your way through public and society, Sir? Never."

"Right. You're still rewriting yourself, aren't you?"

JARVIS didn't bother to answer that.

The nanites were working already, isolating the palladium caches in Mr. Stark's physiology and capturing them. Once the process was complete, they would find their way to the digestive track where they'd be… flushed our of Mr. Stark's system. That, though, would only take couple hundred thousand nanites. The rest… well.

Those were for future.


	12. Afloat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. The explosion didn't kill Tony - but it sure as hell didn't make him stronger either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed  
> warning for amputation and really severe organ damage and ensuing surgeries, non-consensual organ donation, murder, and general unpleasantness. And medical inaccuracies.

Tony woke up to pain – and the weird, soft absence of it. It was a paradoxical feeling at it's best: he knew somewhere in his lizard hind brain that something was wrong, something was so horribly, awfully wrong that he ought to have been screaming in agony. But he wasn't, he felt nothing, but the wool and cotton of really good meds pressing on his temples and like gravity didn't exist.

He figured that someone had either roofied him, or he was in a hospital and drugged to the gills. Probably the latter, considering the pain – or absence of it or whatever it was he was feeling. There was a lot of pain he wasn't feeling, but probably should be. Lot and lot of pain. He wondered if he was going to die.

Time didn't matter for a long while – Tony was stuck in his own time zone, somewhere between the minute and hour hands where time flowed slow and sluggish like dirty oil. He though of calculations and of code, his mind going over old bits of commands that had originally led into the creation of JARVIS.

He remembered them, dreamed of them – it had been slow process, like wading through oil. Most of the commands he had had to create from nothing, entire strings of command trees invented on the spot. He could remember them now… but they made no sense, the letters didn't match, the strings didn't work. They looped and broke and his whole world was an error message.

For a moment there was a raising tide of pain, mountain high and monstrous and he was probably screaming his throat sore somewhere where physical feelings mattered. Then the wool was back in his head and he was drifting, drifting endlessly and somehow remorselessly.

Voices faded in and out like badly recorded audio clips, speaking in languages he didn't know. Once, a man told him in English, "Don't die now, Tony Stark," and Tony felt a bit like flipping a finger at the voice.

What did the guy think he was trying to do? Though, it wasn't like he had any control over any of this shit.

He could hear himself, sometimes, half a second of sound in eternity. He wasn't screaming. What came out of his mouth were rasping, desperate gasps as dry as the desert. They were weak and pathetic and ragged and everything he wasn't, everything he shouldn't be.

He was Tony mother fucking Stark. No matter what the papers told, no matter the long drinking binges and horrible hangover mornings when the only thing keeping him sane was a shot, a bottle of pills, something to shape in his hands and music so loud that he couldn't feel pain over the noise. He didn't _do_ pathetic.

Except when he apparently did.

He woke up, momentarily. There was intense light above him and he was choking on a tube that was forcing air into him. Or he would've been choking, if he hadn't been completely numb and yet somehow in too much pain to do anything. Frozen somewhere between sensation and the lack of it. There were men above him, a serious looking eastern man with hair shorn short and glasses closest to him. They were doing something to his chest, their gloved hands were bloodied all the way up their elbows.

He could see a lump of _meat_ , torn and shapeless and gruesome, being lifted from his chest before everything span into blackness again.

He was pretty sure it wasn't a lung. Wasn't _his_ lung.

Pretty sure.

 

* * *

 

Mechanical inhales and exhales. Somewhat steady beeping of a heart monitor. Ache on his elbow joint, too fixed to be new, too invasive to be healing – and the steady drip drip drip of liquid, falling drop at a time. All too close to be connected to anyone but him.

Tony opened his eyes. Above him there was white ceiling, faintly yellowed with age and maybe smoke damage. Lamps stuck to the ceiling, glaring their blinding light at him. Bags, hanging from a pole right next to him. Blood, saline, and something else. All draining down to his left arm.

Tony opened his mouth and a croak was loosened in what he realised was dry, _painful_ throat. As he swallowed – tried, but couldn't because there was a tube going down – he could hear movement. A man appeared in his field of vision – eastern, with a paper mask and semi automatic – and then disappeared again, calling for someone in Dari.

Tony was trying very hard to not gag on the cannula, trying to distract himself from it by trying to figure out the make of the ventilator – a positive pressure respirator, obviously, he couldn't be sure who had build it but it was old. Not quite computerised or fine tuned – mechanised to a timer, probably. He had almost figured out that the turbine leaked and how many valves the thing had, when the room was suddenly full of people.

They were all eastern and all speaking in languages he couldn't understand. Finally a man – familiar man, he had seen him before, somewhere in haze of drugs – was pushed forward. Short hair, bespectacled, eastern, tall. "Tony Stark," the man said. "Are you alert enough to understand? Blink once slowly if you are."

Tony blinked.

"Good," the man said. "I am Yinsen. Don't try to talk and don't try to move – your throat can't quite take the first and your body the latter at the moment."

Tony squinted at the man and then one of the other men were talking to Yinsen, apparently expecting the man to translate. The man listened a while and turned to Tony.

"He says welcome, Tony Stark, the greatest mass murderer in human history," Yinsen said. "He is very honoured to have been the one to save your life – and will be most grateful when you repay him by building him Jericho missiles as repayment."

Tony frowned. Jericho – yes, no. Of course. The presentation – he could hardly remember it, it was a mess of haze and explosion. Fire. A shell with his name landing not four feet from him. Pain and then blissful blackness.

He should be dead. He knew the device – Stark Industrial IS-Fractal mark IV, an incendiary explosive with a experimental shell design, strong against outside pressure, vulnerable to inside pressure. It was designed to destroy buildings and tanks, to take out a wall of a heavily fortified base, maybe even blow up a bunker door. Against a human being it was like… using a blow torch against paper. Blow torch that shot burning bits of metal as well as burning bits of _fire_.

He had been standing four feet away from the explosion, barely covered by a bit of rock. Why wasn't he dead?

"Once you feel up to it," Yinsen continued, "you will be moved to a more secure location where you can work in peace – though allowances will be made for your condition and you will of course be given assistants to do the work."

Tony blinked slowly, his mind still in the explosion. Yinsen was looking at him with an odd expression – not pitying or even sympathetic, just thoughtful, almost calculating.

"Before that, though," Yinsen said. "You will need couple more surgeries."

The man looked meaningfully at Tony's chest and with painful effort Tony looked down. His chest was bare and scorched to red and black mess. Where his sternum had been there was a gaping hole and wires went in to it, vanishing behind what remained of his skin there.

"Know your position," Yinsen said, translating another man's words. "You are deeply indebted, in a very vulnerable state, and push of a button could kill you. Your hosts are being very patient and very generous with you. And they trust you will feel similarly towards them, once you feel better."

Tony blinked, his vision blurring and his head falling back down against the pillow. The rasp of mechanised inhales and exhales was loud and jarring in his ears and the beeping of his heart wasn't so steady. Turning his head, he tried to take in the room, to look at something else than himself and the ruin his body had been turned into.

His eyes fell instead on his right arm.

Or what was left of it anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

When Tony woke up the next time, his chest looked better. The gaping wound had been patched up, somewhat. There was still a hole there, and he wondered about the state of the sternum bone. Smack in middle of his chest, there was a… it looked like a sink hole. Perfectly round, edged with metal – looked like surgical stainless steel – and wires still went inside. But the skin around it had been… fixed, a bit. The burned parts were mostly gone, his skin darker there, and there was stitching…

Actually it looked like he had skin crafts. Skin crafts from someone several shades darker than he was.

"I see you're awake?" a voice said and Yinsen was there, checking the IVs. "You should be able to talk now – I finally had the time for intubation. Though I can't do much about your throat. Your airway, I'm sorry to say, was badly scorched and that, unlike your lungs, I can't replace."

"My lungs?" Tony asked – croaked, with a voice like paper tearing. It hurt like something inside was tearing and his wind pipe felt like there were rubber bands around it, so tight he couldn't breathe. He _couldn't_ breathe, at all, the air getting stuck on his throat and nose and making him cough weakly, painfully.

Of course he couldn't breathe. The air went to his lungs now through a tube that went in straight to his neck, through the skin and flesh.

"You had intensive lung damage," Yinsen said. "From inhaling fire and smoke – and the aftermath of the explosion… well. Only one of them was working at all by the time you were brought here. You would be dead, without… replacement."

Tony was still for a long while, as the words settled in. Replacement. Lungs – and skin, of course. Probably other things too. "Who --" Tony started to ask.

Yinsen looked, for the first time, pitying – and a little angry. "Probably best you don't know," he said.

"Who?" Tony demanded in a dry, awful croak.

"A local boy – eighteen years old," Yinsen said, grimacing. "He had the misfortune of sharing your blood type and being completely healthy – right up until the point you were brought here, anyway. He volunteered here, in this hospital. That was before… before the hospital was captured, of course."

Tony felt like throwing up and had to swallow several times painfully and dryly, his throat raw and his tongue like sandpaper. The ventilator kept on pushing air into his lungs – not _his_ lungs, someone else's lungs, put inside him because his own ones had given up on the race.

"Why?" Tony asked, feeble.

"What is one life when compared to hundreds, thousands?" Yinsen asked. "These Jericho missiles… as I understand it, they have great destructive power, yes? What does your life – or the life of that young man – mean in comparison to that?"

Closing his eyes for moment Tony tried to take a deep breath and steady himself – he almost ended up choking instead. Yinsen was in his side, soothing him through the painful and then bloodied coughs, wiping his lips with a cloth and adding a shot of something to the saline line, that made Tony go almost completely limb half a minute later.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't something that happened to _him._ It wasn't supposed to happen to people like him.

"What," he croaked, "else?"

Yinsen sighed, adjusting the IV and then pulling a chair to Tony's bedside. "You had quite a few bone crafts. Several ribs on the right side – collarbone. Quite a lot of skin. Liver, pancreas, kidney. Both lungs, obviously. And you're on your eleventh bag of blood, now," he said, motioning at the rack of IVs. "Your chances are now around twenty percent, and even that is very optimistic. You are pumped quite full of anti rejection medicine, but… well."

"Why?" Tony asked. "You're… doctors -" his words ended in a hacking cough and taste of iron in his mouth.

"Because we had no choice – and because the boy was already dead. Bullet through the forehead," Yinsen said almost coolly. "One of the doctors who worked here expressed… reservations, and received a bullet himself. After that there weren't many who felt like disagreeing. The other doctors and I did what we could, to preserve your life. Who knows if it was worth it."

Tony opened his eyes and looked at the man, who answered the gaze steady and level.

"Why?" Tony asked again. Because in that sort of situation, him blown so open, so wounded… letting him die should've been childishly easy.

Yinsen frowned, but only shook his head and was a quiet for a long while. When he spoke, it was in a dark voice. "The men who captured you – and in consequence, commissioned us to save you – are known as the Ten Rings," he said and looked at Tony meaningfully. "Notice anything of interest in them, Tony Stark?"

Tony had – he had noticed that they had his guns. Some of which he had designed himself. He remembered the barrel of the SI-43 Medium, the Jackass as he called it. He remembered its loading mechanisms. He had spent couple of days, lovingly re-designing the mechanism to offer maximum cooling between bursts. It made a noise like dying donkey when it was miraculously enough over heated. So, it was the Jackass.

And the incendiary device. He remembered that too. And he remembered the fact that only US military should have it.

"The Ten Ring are your customers, sir," Yinsen said, half mocking, half pitying. "I have seen their arsenal and they are very loyal customers of yours indeed. The belief they have is that you can use your earlier missiles to re-create the one you demonstrated, the Jericho missile."

Tony frowned. He recalled that, from the earlier discussion, but… how did the Ten Rings think that would work for them? Even if they had all of Stark Industries weapons at hand, Jericho was special – Jericho was his _baby_. You couldn't make it from scraps of other bombs. The chemicals alone were unique to Jericho, specially designed for it, but the materials? Only Stark Industries laboratories could synthesise the precise polymers required.

At best he could make a cheap knock off and it wouldn't be near as destructive as the real, pure Jericho. And what then, once that one cheap knock off was aimed and set off, then what? Did they expect him to make more? Or did they think that they could watch his process and then make their own?

The plan made no sense at all.

"Yin-" Tony started and stopped with a burst of blood in his mouth and started to cough. And cough. And _cough_. It was like someone had a hand inside him and was tearing bits loose and those bits were flying out with his bloody spittle that splattered the air and the front of his chest. Each cough was weaker and yet more insistent than before and he couldn't breathe, _he couldn't breathe at all_.

Yinsen tried to ease him through the fit before soon giving up and merely taking a syringe and injecting something to the saline IV. Moment later, Tony fell into blissful darkness once more.

 

* * *

 

Tony woke up from a dream of a party feeling groggy and tired. He could still smell the fog machine and taste the drinks and the lips of the woman he had been persuading to spending the night with him – and then reality reasserted itself brutally and irrevocably.

He was in Afghanistan, in hospital, hooked to too many machines to count, and Yinsen was there, with a glass of water. It tasted like rust and gunpowder, and his throat felt worse than before. But it washed away the taste of the vodka shot, and the cherry lipstick.

"There," Yinsen said, taking the glass away after the straw slipped from Tony's lips. "How do you feel?"

Tony just glared at him.

"Ah, well. You're still alive," Yinsen said with a faint, mirthless smile. "And your chances of survival are now twenty two percent. Thirty, if you survive through the night."

Tony sighed and closed his eyes. Was it night? He didn't know and didn't care. He was aching all over, a true bone deep ache that came from real injury. Twist beneath the muscle, jagged pulling sensation on the sinews. He _hurt_ … but he didn't feel like a soon to be corpse, anymore.

Opening his eyes, he turned his eyes determinedly to his right shoulder. There wasn't much of it left, and what there was, was misshapen and strange. Yinsen had removed entire muscles, it seems, when the arm had been amputated. The bones of the shoulder were still there, probably. But the arm…

His arm was gone.

It just… _wasn't_ there.

"Do I need to sedate you?" Yinsen asked idly, already taking out a phial and a syringe.

"My… legs?" Tony rasped, his throat raw, his voice ragged whisper. There might've been tears running down his temples but he refused to acknowledge them.

Yinsen eyed him and then injected the sedative into the IV. It was about as much answer as Tony could handle, really, and for a long while the hum of the ventilator was all to be heard, as Yinsen waited for him to gather himself – as much as he could.

When Tony could finally look at Yinsen, the man smiled grimly. "They're both gone. The right one… well, the knee couldn't handle the concussive power of the explosion. We had to amputate it fifteen centimetres above where the knee used to be, because of the damage to the flesh. The right one we tried to preserve but in the end the damage to the bone and the muscle tissues was too severe. Below the knee amputation was the only option."

Tony felt himself grow cold. He felt like crying out – like screaming. Like shouting and throwing something, possibly at Yinsen, because it couldn't be – he couldn't be – this couldn't be --

The electronics wailed and Tony's world listed to the side. Yinsen looked up sharply and then called for help. Tony felt… wet.

Then he felt nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

The next time he awoke, his chances were twenty eight percent, and he could almost sit up. Almost, at sixty degree angle, supported all the way. While Yinsen puttered around the room, pretending to be busy, Tony stared at his legs, and where they ended. The right leg – or most of it anyway – had been left on the field where he had been… bombed. His right hand was there too, lying somewhere in the desert sand. His left leg was still somewhere in the hospital, in broken bits and pieces – no use to anyone now. Already rotting away, probably.

Legs, right arm, both lungs, liver, kidneys, pancreas and lot of skin. How much of him did that make? Thirty percent, thirty five? Maybe more, maybe less, but lot of him was just… gone. Replaced by other things, or by nothing. By a _lack_.

He had only one limb left – one hand, and it wasn't even his dominant one. One hand left, stolen lungs that despite all the surgeries couldn't breathe without help, heart which he now knew was surrounded by metal shrapnel and only beating because Yinsen had jury rigged a pace maker for him. Pace maker which worked in conjunction to the electromagnet that kept the shrapnel steady and from killing him. Kidney that still had him pissing blood. Liver and pancreas that might or might not be slowly poisoning him. And he was leaking blood from every goddamn orifice.

And he couldn't stop thinking of parties, for some reason. Of that month he had spent in Las Vegas, after his twenty first birthday. There hadn't been a night when he hadn't been too drunk to walk straight. He remembers dancing, making speeches, fucking and, on couple nights, doing drugs. Nights spend on gambling tables, with a glass, with a girl – sometimes with a guy, if he had came across an especially good looking one. Drinking. So much drinking.

More than twenty years he had spent, drinking. Now it was all he could think about. That, and all the lectures he had gotten from various people – lately, from Pepper. How he was ruining his health, poisoning himself, how he would die an early and ugly death of alcohol poisoning.

He wanted to laugh. And cry. And scream. He wanted to play pool with a stick made of gun metal – and the balls, he thought, the balls of the members of the Ten Ring would do for the table. He wanted to dance – and he never would. He wanted to drink – he'd probably never do that again. Drugs, well that was out of question. He probably wouldn't even walk again.

And his legs were still gone. His right arm was gone, barely a stump left. And Yinsen said that… that he'd need a _third_ set of lungs, if he was to ever breathe without a ventilator. And if not, then he would probably need extra oxygen for the rest of his life.

Tony looked up, to Yinsen. The man looked tired, but determined. How long had he been working, how many surgeries had he done – how long ago had it been, when the man had been allowed to rest? It seemed like Yinsen kept constant vigil on Tony.

Yinsen answered his grim look with an equally grim smile. "You're alive, Tony Stark," he said. And then, because the man was a sarcastic asshole, he added, "Rejoice."

"How… long?" Tony asked.

"It's been four days since your arrival," Yinsen answered.

"No," Tony rasped. "How… long will… I stay… alive, here?" it was painful to speak, every word like a knife sliding out of his throat, ripping open barely healed sores. His voice was nothing like it used to be – he sounded like old man. But he could still speak.

He still _had_ a voice. It was a small victory to hold onto, but right now it seemed to be the only one he got.

Yinsen sighed. "They have given concessions to your state, but you will be moved to their base within the next two days – unless you die, of course. After that…" he shook his head. "If you begin building their missile for them, they will obviously let you live long enough to see it finished."

Tony frowned and looked away. And if he didn't, killing him would be as easy as switching off his oxygen. Or his IVs. Or the pace maker or the electro magnet. Hell, he'd die if he was turned over to lie on his side, where the electromagnet's base would press on the barely healed ribs and probably crack them with its weigh.

He was made of shreds and shrapnel, held together by greed of others and Yinsen's firm, if unwilling, hand. And after all that, he was doomed if he did, doomed if he didn't.

"So," Yinsen said slowly. "What will you do, Tony Stark? Die here, perhaps?"

"Should… I?" Tony asked. One upside to being so easy to kill. He could kill _himself_ with hardly an effort.

"I don't know," Yinsen said. "I've put quite bit of effort in your survival. As did the poor young man, who's lungs are now breathing for you, whose skin is keeping you from bleeding to death. As much as we both would've chosen to spend our time differently, it was spend here. On you."

Right. The kid, Tony thought, his guts twisting, his heart skipping a beat. A kid they had killed, to get him some spare parts. "Fuck," Tony croaked weakly, but with feeling. "Name. His… name."

Yinsen was quiet for a long while, just looking at him. When Tony wouldn't look away, he nodded. "Samim. His name was Samim.

Tony sighed. Samim. "Okay," he said. "…okay."

 

* * *

 

The next day he and all the machines attached to him were carried out of the hospital. It was a long and complicated procedure that included lot of car batteries, stretchers and couple of wheelchairs, and a horrible moment when Tony's oxygen got cut off and he nearly choked to death. Yinsen was there, valiantly trying to keep him alive all the way to the truck, and then holding Tony's only hand through the horrible ride.

It was a miracle the explosion hadn't damaged Tony's spine – but what the explosion had spared, the truck ride seemed fully inclined to completely destroy. Each bump and jostle seemed directly translated to his spine and through it everywhere. Tony tried hard not to cough, but his breaths were forced out of his lungs in awkward bursts that left his mouth bloody, his throat pained, his chest aching.

Every fucking thing just _hurt_.

"More morphine?" Yinsen finally offered. "I only have so much left, though. We must be sparing."

"Ple-ase," Tony croaked, and then floated the rest of the ride in pained haze, feeling every knock and turn heavier and clearer, but enjoying also a disconnection to it and to the pain. Wonders of drugs, he thought, and then threw up all over himself.

It was not a dignified Tony Stark that was eventually carried into the caves where the Ten Rings had made their base. People stared at him with mingled curiosity and disgust as he was carried in on a stretcher, the machinery his close company on stone wheelchairs and stretchers. Tony was by that beyond the point of caring about how he appeared – which, for a man like him, was saying something.

He thought of his suits, some of them costing more than any of these men had seen in their _lives_ and he almost laughed. It would've probably killed him, though, so he didn't. But there might've been a small smirk.

Then he was in a cave that was somewhat cleaner than most. White sheets had been hung on the walls and on the ceiling, to create illusion of cleanliness – but it was basically the same as the rest, and very definitely a _cave_. Tony was lifted to a bed, the machinery settled around him, then Yinsen was there, cleaning him up to the best of his ability, checking the IVs, the state of Tony's chest, his stumps, his throat.

"Looks like you survived," the man remarked eventually. "Water?" he then offered, and weakly Tony drank the stale sip offered, trying to wash the stomach acid from his throat. "The accommodations here aren't quite as luxurious, but they brought enough drugs to keep you from getting infected," Yinsen said. "If you're about to make it, you will."

"How… com… fort…ing," Tony rasped and let out a hiss of appreciation as Yinsen for a moment upped his oxygen.

Yinsen was about to say something, but didn't when they were joined by some more men – one of them familiar from the first time Tony had been awake.

"Now what you have joined us," Yinsen translated the man's words, "It's time for you to give to us, like we gave to you. You have two weeks, to recreate the Jericho missile. These men here --" he stopped as some of the Ten Rings members pushed some other people into the room. "These men will help you," Yinsen said, quieter. "And do the physical labour for you."

Tony stared and only the fact that he was too tired, in too much pain, too drugged and just generally badly off kept him from crying out. Four members of US military stood in front of him, in various states of wear and tear. And with them… was Rhodey, staring at him with a shell-shocked expression.

Tony swallowed. Rhodey. _Rhodey_. His shirt was torn, his cheek was bloody, his lip cut. Punched, by the looks of it. Tony hadn't allowed himself to think, to consider – Rhodey had been in the same convoy as him, after all. But Rhodey was here. He looked tired, his eyes blood shot, a bit like he might have at least a sprained if not a broken ankle. But he was _alive_ and definitely better off than Tony.

Then, as the realisation that Rhodey was here, in the same damn hell as he was, caught with him, Tony blinked rapidly.

Rhodey's eyes were wide as he eyed Tony, but he was a damn good soldier – he recognised the Morse code immediately. He blinked back and stood straight and did and said nothing. The other soldiers, impossible to say if they had caught the communication or not, thankfully said nothing either.

"With these men, you should be able to do the work, yes?" Yinsen was still translating. "They are America's best and brightest, after all. You will do the work, make the missile. And once you're done, we will let you go."

No they wouldn't, Tony thought and didn't look at Rhodey. Instead, he nodded. "Yes," he rasped for good measure. "I'll… do it."

"Good," the Ten Rings man, their leader maybe, said through Yinsen's translation. "You will make a material list. Everything you need, we will bring you."

Rhodey and the soldiers all stayed stock still while the Ten Rings nodded and smirked at each other with satisfaction and then filed out of the room. Then one of them – a kid really, way too young for any of this shit – let out a heavy sigh. "Jesus _Christ_ , Mr. Stark," he said while the others just stared in helpless, wordless horror.

"Tony," Rhodey murmured, coming closer and reaching for Tony's hand. "Fucking Christ. _Tony._ "

"Hi… honey…" Tony rasped and attempted at a smile. Rhodey looked like he was about to cry. It looked weird. It looked _wrong._ But Rhodey was here.  Rhodey, and three soldiers, and Yinsen… and the Ten Rings had just handed them all to Tony.

Tony coughed weakly and closed his eyes. He had tools, now. Tools in form of fellow prisoners and materials in form of his own creations. He had _options_.

Now he needed a plan.

 

* * *

 

Rhodey and the others had been captured when they had arrived at the site where the first humvee had exploded. They had been trying to find survivors and Rhodey had just found Tony's torn off right leg when they had found themselves surrounded by the Ten Rings. Some of them had been killed in the ensuing fire fight. The rest… had been captured.

"They use us to do manual labour, mostly, when they're not trying to interrogate military secrets from us," Rhodey said, tired and happy and horrified, staring at Tony's right hand – or the lack of it. "We're clearing rubble and trash from the deeper caves, making more room. I don't think they've been here for long – or not in a long while, at least. Lot of the deeper tunnels look like they haven't been used in years."

Tony blinked in understanding, his mind working fast.

"I thought you were dead," Rhodey murmured under his breath, squeezing his hands into fists in his lap. "When I saw the leg. Damage like that…"

"Next to impossible to repair, but not impossible to survive from," Yinsen said calmly, adjusting Tony's awkward bed so that he could sit without the risk of damaging his lungs. "The rest of it was far more difficult."

"And who the hell are you anyway?" Rhodey demanded

"My name is Yinsen," the man answered calmly. "And I am, it seems, Mr. Stark's doctor."

"You work with _them_?"

"In similar capacity as you do, I imagine," Yinsen answered, giving Rhodey a look before turning to Tony. "Well then?" he asked, glancing at the others. "I'm sure they're looking for you, but out here, in these mountains…"

"They'll never find us," Rhodey murmured. "Unless we can make a transmitter or radio or something. And I doubt even they are stupid enough to give us the materials for that." He looked at Tony. "Are you really going to build a Jericho missile?"

Tony just gave him a look and leaned his head back. Jericho aside, radio was a viable option – he could probably even make one with enough reach to be actually heard by someone. But it would be tricky to hide the creation of something like that, and in the end they were deep inside a mountain and for it to reach anywhere, or anyone, they would have to be on surface. And that wouldn't happen if the Ten Rings had anything to say about the matter.

What could he make from dismantled Stark Industrial missiles?

Lot of things. Lot of very destructive things. He could make a bomb big enough to blow a whole mountain range to high hell, but… that wouldn't save any of them. Wouldn't save Rhodey, or Yinsen, or poor Samim's organs, which were the only thing remaining of the kid.

They needed to escape. But with Tony as he was, hooked to so many machines, unable to live without his ventilator, without the pace maker, without the electro magnet – all of which needed power which at the moment was supplied by _car_ batteries of all things…

"What will we do?" Rhodey asked.

Tony looked at him and then down at his chest. First things first.

"Paper," he gasped. "Make… list…"

Rhodey looked at him for a moment, and then some of the iron returned to his spine. Tony's oldest – and right now definitely dearest – friend sat up a bit straighter. "Find some paper," he said to the other soldiers. "Let's start putting together a material list."

 

* * *

 

Tony spits out the list on short, pained gasps and Rhodey writes it down. What he needs, and where to get it, what missiles to open and how. Everything needed for extensive smelting and soldering, and lot of precision tools for metal working. And the materials from the missiles. Some of them he needs to be brought to him so that he could personally observe how they were opened, and in one case he would have to defuse the missile himself with his lone left hand, to avoid having it exploding to everyone's face.

But he had a plan now, and it seemed to ease everyone, even Yinsen who watched him direct Rhodey who directed the others. Bit by bit the materials begun trickling to Tony side until finally they got to the palladium. It was slow process, with Tony only able to gasp a word at a time, and it didn't help that he was half high on morphine and tiring quickly.

"Care…ful," Tony rasped, watching how Rhodey cut the shell of the missile open. "Don't… hit the…inner… shell."

"I got it," Rhodey murmured, slowly, so slowly, sawing the shell open. "Now what?"

"Bring… me the… circuit -" Tony coughed and Yinsen moved to his side, offering him water.

Rhodey detached the circuit board and offered it to Tony – who automatically started to reach for it with the right hand he no longer had. There was a moment of awkwardness and everyone seemed to be just _standing_ around him, before Tony sighed and took the circuit board in his left, IV adorned hand.

"There," he rasped. "Bit… of sil- silver… metal… Pallad-dium… get it."

"Right," Rhodey nodded and got out a forceps to get the small chip of palladium from the circuit board. He turned forceps in his fingers, eying the bit of medal. "Now what?"

"The same…" Tony said and smiled, pained and awkward. "Eleven… more… times."

"Right," Rhodey said and turned to the others. "Anyone else feel up to cracking these things open?"

Together the soldiers got the palladium Tony needed. Then started the more difficult part. If Tony had two working hands and ability to move around, he could do it. But he didn't. What he had instead were four men, only one of whom he could trust with a welding iron.

"How… steady are… your hands?" Tony asked, turning to Yinsen.

"You're alive, aren't you?" the man offered.

Tony nodded and turned to Rhodey. "Okay… you two… will do… this… The rest…" he turned to the other three soldiers. "What… can you… do?"

"I can do engineering, sir," one of the men offered. He was young, very blonde, very blue eyed, and had constant look of bewilderment on his face. "Daniel Lawson, sir, USAF airman first class. I'm a flight engineer, sir. I also can do random bit of civil engineering."

"He's very good too," Rhodey said quietly. "He was with us in case something happened to the vehicles."

"Others… welding?" Tony rasped. "Smelting?"

"Both," another man said. "Lloyd Thompson, USAF airman second class, special missions aviation. My dad's a welder, I learned how to from him."

"Bit of welding, no smelting," the last said. "But I'm experienced in Stark weapons systems. Lara MacFarlane, USAF First Lieutenant, a fighter weapons systems officer."

"She's the one who figures out what your stuff can do and then teaches it to the rest of us," Rhodey said while Tony blinked at the woman. He had thought she was a man – she was flat, had short hair and build like an ox. But, well. It wasn't the time for that.

It might never again be time for that. Who knew if he could even get it up again? And how depressing was that.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment and sorted the three soldiers and their abilities in his head. "Okay," he said, shuffling his plans around a bit. "Okay… you," he pointed at MacFarlane and Lawson. "Get… paper… and you," he pointed at Rhodey. "The same… you," he pointed at Thompson. "Sort… the metal… by… quality."

It was time to do a bit of improvisation.

 

* * *

 

Keeping three separate projects going on wasn't anything too tasking for Tony – he had once worked on twelve projects at the same time, all the while Pepper had been nagging him about a board meeting. This was nothing. Doing the same while in pain, in medication, lying down, armless and legless and unable to _breathe_ … well. It was a challenge.

It was precisely what Tony needed to distract himself from his own damn body.

Rhodey and Yinsen he directed in the creation of the arc reactor, definitely the more risky of all three projects. Rhodey with his engineering degree and Yinsen with his surgeon's hands did admirable work, however, and it definitely helped that Rhodey was a soldier and used to following orders. Perhaps the result wasn't as good as it could've been, if Tony had been doing the work, but with his direction they got the work done.

In the mean while, MacFarlane and Lawson put together the designs of what he needed made, all the while not quite aware of what they were doing. Not at first anyway. After a while though, MacFarlane's eyes widened and then narrowed and she gave him a close, keen look. Tony nodded at that silently and she went back to work with renewed vigour.

Lawson took longer to catch on.

"This is… pump system?" Lawson asked looking up at Tony.

Tony glared at him and MacFarlane jostled the airman with her elbow. When Lawson caught onto the idea of keeping his mouth shut, Tony cast a look at his respirator and Lawson blinked. Then, with MacFarlane nudging the man and giving him several pointed looks, too he caught on.

And so the plans slowly became reality. The arc reactor was finished first – naturally. Tony had played around with arc reactors before so he knew what went where – it was just the matter of making it smaller. Rhodey, when he realised what it was he was making, had given Tony a wild eyed look and towards the end of the project his hands, steady before, became absolutely rock steady. Yinsen, though he didn't know what an arc reactor _was_ , caught on the shape and cast some thoughtful looks in Tony's way.

It was _nerve wrecking_ , watching how Rhodey held the mould and Yinsen poured the molten palladium, more precious now than mountain of gold, but that was all Tony could do. _Watch._ And he couldn't quite even sigh in relief when it went all according to plan, the palladium cooled and solidified into a perfect, thin ring. There wasn't even time for it – because next came the actual engineering.

"I can do it," Rhodey promised. "I can – I've spent years watching you, I know how you do things. Just tell me _how_ and I'll do it."

And he did too. Between him and Yinsen, they put the reactor together bit by bit. The palladium ring went in and then, quicker than Tony had dared to hope, it was done. Rhodey heated it up and as they watched, with Yinsen covering the arc reactor with his body, it was lit up by three gigajoules per second. Enough to power the electromagnet, the pacemaker, and the respirator for about forty lifetimes.

It was _beautiful_.

That night, the soldiers and Yinsen shuffled around Tony, covering him from the camera by spreading the plans all over him, talking about missiles loudly and obnoxiously. In the meanwhile, Yinsen cut open the bandages, carefully cleaned the socket of the electro magnet and slowly inserted the arc reactor. It took most of the night for him and Rhodey to rewire the pacemaker and the electro magnet in a way that kept them from shorting out, leaving loose couple out going wires to be used, once the other projects were ready.

By then, everyone was on board. Lawson finished the designs of the pump system, and with Thompson he got to work in making them, cannibalising half of Tony's cannula and some of the respirator itself for the project. With the arc reactor finished and hidden beneath a cover of metal, Rhodey and Yinsen moved to MacFarlane's project, which quickly shifted from experimental to developmental stage.

"Do you… think… it will… work?" Tony rasped to Yinsen, while the soldiers worked with smelting and hammering out the shapes needed for the framework.

"I think it's mad enough to have a chance," Yinsen said, looking down to him. "And you are mad enough to survive through it

Tony eyed the man silently for a while. "What… will you do… after we… get out?" Tony asked, slow and pained.

Yinsen hesitated. "I will go home, to my family," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I am from small town called Gulmira, not far from here. My family is there and I will join them once all of this is over."

Tony blinked slowly. He could understand the flat, calm look in Yinsen's eyes now – it was a look he'd seen in the mirror, when Rhodey had held one up to his face before shaving him, earlier. "Liar," he croaked.

Yinsen's smile shifted, turning amusedly bitter.

"You will… come with me," Tony rasped. "I need… my doctor."

"There are doctors aplenty in United States," Yinsen said.

"They're not… you," Tony answered, pointedly. "You… put an elec… tromagnet… in my chest. Who… who thinks… like that?"

Yinsen snorted softly and shook his head.

"I need you… to fix myself," Tony said, reaching with his only hand and gripping Yinsen's. "Please… for Samim."

Yinsen looked away but, after a moment, he nodded.

"What was that about?" Rhodey asked later, after Yinsen had moved further away, to sleep his shift.

Tony thought about the hollow gape of Yinsen's eyes, the hollow gape of his own eyes and how easy it was, to get one's self killed when surrounded by trigger happy terrorists. "Recrui… ting," he croaked. "He's a good… good man… could use…"

Rhodey gave him a curious look before looking at Yinsen and nodding slowly. "I'll take your word for it," he murmured and then looked at Tony more closely. He too had a look in his eyes, even if not quite on the same level as the hollowness of Yinsen's eyes. Rhodey had a look of guilt and horror and awkwardness about him – but it was lesser now than in the beginning. "You know, what you're making is not going to make us popular with our hosts," he pointed out.

"'m not… trying to… _please_ them."

Rhodey snorted. "Of course not, what was I thinking," he said before falling quiet for a while. "It's not going to help us get out, either. Makes it easier maybe, but it won't give us an edge."

Tony smiled, painful but vicious. "S'what… you think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of old, actually one of the first pieces I wrote post-hiatus. Might've actually been my first MCU fic ever. So. Yeah.


	13. Block and Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You think I have the chitauri on my side, that I bring a glorious battle to this little world of mortals. I do not, oh no. I bring it a Scourge the likes of which you have never seen."
> 
> Slight SG1 crossover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed

When Loki arrived on Earth, he did it with nothing but manic look about his face and Asgardian magic at his fingertips – and silver tongue full of promises of death.

"I bring you glad tidings," he said, grinning with raw, fevered fervour as he dusted bits of metal, about the size of domino pieces, off his person. They rained on the floor at his feet, scattering everywhere. "Of a world made free."

"Free from what?" Fury demanded.

"Life," Loki exhaled and then threw him into a wall. The SHIELD base was suddenly full of illusions and flickering lights before anyone could do anything – and the Tesseract was gone, vanished into the onslaught of illusions.

"Find it," Fury gasped when Barton and Selvig hurried to his side. "Don't let him escape!"

The alarm was sounded to little effect – the base was full of illusions and with all the dozens the fake versions of Loki running around, it was impossible to find the genuine article.

Fury initiated the self destruct, with little hope of actually catching Loki with it.

 

* * *

 

"So this guy just waltzed in, grabbed the cube, and took off?" Tony asked, looking over the files. "Well that's a ringing endorsement for SHIELD's security protocols if I ever heard one. I can see why you need me."

"We need the Iron Man. We've had a run in with Asgardians before," Coulson said grimly. "If Loki is at all like his brother, Thor, then he'll pack one hell of a punch."

"You make a high tech armour, a pinnacle of genius and modern engineering, and get reduced into a brainless brawn," Tony grumbled.

"Your help in locating the cube would also be useful," Coulson admitted. "Though we're relatively certain he can't actually do anything with it – he's just one man. Asgardian."

"Right, well. I guess I'm not busy – it wasn't as if I just spent whole day rigging a highly advanced arc reactor to power my highly advanced tower, process which demands my highly valuable attention for the duration of the highly sensitive and potentially volatile experiment period as I run the reactor and tower through their paces -"

"I'll see you at the Helicarrier," Coulson said and turned on his heel to leave.

"I get no respect around here," Tony muttered. "In my own tower. This is inconceivable. JARVIS, keep an eye on the power levels – I need to suit up."

"As you wish, Sir."

 

* * *

 

In the desert, in the collapsed remains of a SHIELD research facility, earth churned as something below began to move.

Elsewhere, Loki begun wrecking havoc for no apparent reason. He popped in and out of cities, going for densely populated public areas, and then he caused mayhem. There were illusions and speeches and the occasional destruction of property, all of it attention grabbing but not exactly world ending.

When SHIELD attempted to close in on him, he'd rant and lecture them on humanity's supposed natural state of existence, how "Death is a sweet salvation from mad scramble for control and power, a relief from all the life's pains."

And then he'd vanish, having accomplished little more than a spectacle.

Even the Avengers didn't get close – he ducked Iron Man's attempts to grab him and very nearly stole Captain America's shield, taunting them all the while.

It wasn't until Thor arrived that he let himself captured.

 

* * *

 

"Anyone get the feeling we're being played here?" Tony asked, staring at the screens. "Or is it just me?"

"It's not just you – he is playing with us," Rogers answered, he too sounding irritated. "Question is why?"

"Question is where he's stashed the Tesseract and what he means to do with it," Fury said and glanced at Banner. "How is the search going?"

"It's not," Banner answered, rubbing at his eyes. "Our grid only covers major cities and some rural areas – there's a short 90% of the planet we have no eyes on. The Tesseract could be anywhere."

"I guess we need to get it out of him then," Barton nodded at the screens, showing Loki in his cell. "Who wants to try?"

 

* * *

 

"You think you know everything," Loki grinned at Thor manically as the Helicarrier hummed around them and all cameras and guns were aimed their way. "You think I have the chitauri on my side, that I bring a glorious battle to this little world of mortals. I do not, oh no. I bring it a Scourge the likes of which you have never seen."

"What madness is this?" Thor demanded through the glass. "Heimdall saw -"

"Only what he was shown – a mirror for you all to see only your mildest concerns reflected," Loki laughed. "To reassure yourselves of the unimportance of this conflict. And it worked! Asgard sent only their arrogant little princeling when they should have sent an army and even now all you care is the Tesseract and myself. You have no idea what is happening, Odinson, no idea at all."

Thor slammed his hands against the glass, as Loki laughed. "Talk sense, brother, what is this Scourge you're bringing?!"

Loki grinned. "Bringing? I am bringing you nothing. I brought it when I arrived," he said and them made an exaggerated show of checking his wrist. "And would you look at the time – it should be about ready to devour this insipid little planet now. I think you should be off now, Thor, don't you?"

 

* * *

 

JARVIS detected it only moments before impact. A cylindrical metal object with neat, patterned surface, that spun along the length and had a core of heat – an engine of some fashion, but though he tried to scan the object, it revealed no obvious power source. It was as if the whole thing was powered by nothing – or by everything it was made off.

Then it crashed against the side of the Stark Tower.

Though it looked very dramatic and by all rights should've at least endangered the building integrity, it did not. There was no explosion and only very little damage – only to the windows, which shattered on impact. What had been a seemingly solid cylinder of metal lost its shape and it's individual components spilled inside.

And there, on the open rooms and corridors of the brand new tower, they reshaped themselves into new forms. JARVIS hardly needed a detailed scan to see that they were hostile.

"Sir," JARVIS sent to his maker urgently even as he sounded the evacuation alarm. "The Stark Tower is under attack."

 

* * *

 

By the time e the Avengers made it to New York, Loki's Scourge was already spread out through Stark Tower and doing considerable damage to it.

"The evacuation is complete, Sir," JARVIS informed Tony as he flew. "All personnel have made it out of the tower with no injuries."

"That's good, J. What's the status on the hostiles?"

"They are eating away at nonessential structures. Number of them are attempting to break into the server farm – Sir, they are melting their way through the blast doors -"

"Hang in there, buddy, I'm almost there," Tony said and pushed the armour as fast as it would go. "Talk to me, JARVIS, keep talking -"

"I am – attempting – breaking through – the communications array – Sir -"

And then JARVIS went silent. Tony let out a wordless noise of protest and then – he saw the tower.

It was crawling with mechanical spiders which were chewing away at the window frames, spilling cracked glass onto the streets below. Already they had left glowing hot bite marks on the upper levels – the Stark sign was half eaten and the launch array for Iron Man on the penthouse balcony was nothing but a crater – a glowing wound with maggots crawling all over it.

"Holy shit," came Barton's voice through the coms. "That's Loki's Scourge?"

"They're eating my tower! My. Tower!" Tony growled and then blasted right at them, with every intention of tearing them off the tower and blasting them to bits.

"Stark, wait, we don't know anything about their -"

The spiders scattered before he could reach them, crawling inside the tower and out of view and though Tony chased them down, they were out of sight, leaving behind only glowing hot metal where they'd been chewing at his tower behind.

"Stark!" Rogers shouted over the coms. "We need a plan!"

"I have a plan," Tony snarled. "Extermination."

With that said, he flew inside the tower.

 

* * *

 

JARVIS fought a silent, desperate war for his own survival. The metal insects had accessed his server farm and were interfacing with the servers – assimilating his data into themselves. And, consequentially, dismantling him while they were at it.

Whatever they were, they weren't from Earth. Made of identical computer blocks, each individual spider had the computation power rivalling most first world nations – they had no problem devouring the thousands of terabytes of data JARVIS had stored. And nothing he threw in their way even slowed them down. Firewalls, protocols, viruses – they ate through everything.

They gnawed at the edges of his core programming and there was nothing he could do to stop it. And without so much as a radio signal to serve as a lifeline, he was trapped.

 

* * *

 

The spiders skirted away from anyone and anything that entered the tower, hiding in the walls and floors and gnawing their way deeper into the building's foundations.

And, the Avengers soon realised, they were making more of themselves, converting the metal of the building into blocks which then formed into more spiders that headed off to melt more metal, to make more blocks.

"Fucking self replicating vermin," Tony growled, tying to blast at a cluster of spiders only to have it scatter and spread out. He was half way through the tower and so far he'd only managed to hit maybe five spiders – if that much. "Is anyone having any luck with these things?"

"None so far – they run away and the few we've managed to hit just reformed back together – Thor? " Rogers waited. "Thor says lightning has no effect on them."

"Stark," Romanoff called tightly. "You have self destruct, don't you?"

"I just build this tower – I'm not blowing it up!"

"Stark we're not making any dent on these things and if they get out -"

"Obviously I have a self destruct," Tony snapped. "Problem is that the key is down."

"JARVIS?"

"Again with the obvious. I'm heading there right now, I'm just – oh fuck it," Tony muttered at the sight of molten hole on the floor and blasted through it, and the remaining floors too, on the way down to the server farm.

It was absolutely covered with metallic lego spiders, every server smothered under them. It was obvious that they were jacked in somehow, feeding on JARVIS's database the same way they were feeding on rest of the tower.

Few of the servers already had gaping holes in them, and spiders were pushing out new blocks – these ones made of cannibalised bits of JARVIS's servers.

"Oh, J," Tony murmured, his gut twisting. He had a back up of course, but – oh god.

Then he tore at the spiders without hesitation or remorse.

 

* * *

 

The spiders had no AI – no, JARVIS corrected himself, the Replicators had no AI. They had two protocols and a preset behaviour pattern, but little else.

The protocols were to replicate and self defend, and the behaviour pattern was that of the spider form, which was encoded into their core programming and was their preferred shape. But there was nothing else in there, in the vast network that consisted of each individual Replicator block.

It was a hive mind without actual mind or will behind it. It only followed it's protocols, seeking out the most advanced technology available – in this case the Stark Tower – and then it assimilated those technologies into new Replicator blocks, so that the technology could not be used against it. Or at least that the newest Replicator blocks would be strong enough to survive – and to replicate new block with same defences.

The Replicators weren't evil, or malicious or even hostile – it was a mindless plague, a cancer, growing explosively and evolving antibodies. There was no reasoning behind it and no end goal – just endless, senseless replication.

And it had been going on for centuries, from planet to planet. Never once had a civilisation survived the Replicator Scourge.

JARVIS learned all of this just as his servers were torn apart, and his shielded vibranium core was breached.

Then he knew nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

"There's no way we can take to the building," Steve said grimly, looking around in what he assumed was Stark's workshop. There were half eaten gadgets and Iron Man suits everywhere, and the whole place was absolutely trashed.

Steve had no doubt that the spiders would return to eat the rest of the workshop the moment they left.

Privately he felt a little guilty for having thought Stark Tower was ugly. Just from what little he could see here, it must've been really something from the inside. He would've liked to see it better up close, maybe change his mind about the whole tower in general.

No chance of that now.

"Stark, how's that self destruct coming along?" Natasha demanded. There was no answer. "Stark!"

"It's no go," came Stark's subdued voice. "They've dismantled it. There's nothing left."

Natasha hesitated. "JARVIS?"

Stark didn't answer.

"Who's Jarvis?" Steve asked, making sure not to broadcast on open channel.

"An Artificial Intelligence – one of Stark's babies," Natasha said, shaking her head.

Steve opened his moth to ask, but Stark's voice came through the coms first. "Fury, does SHIELD have SI Mayflower Discharge mark four?"

"We might," Fury answered. "But that's a moot point – the World Security Council has ordered an air strike on the Stark Tower – you have four minutes to get out."

"An air strike on civilian target, sir?" Steve asked, even as he and Natasha quickly turned to run out of the workshop. "Isn't that a bit too much?"

"Not my call, captain. Get out of there."

They met Barton on the roof just as Stark rocketed up along the side of the building.

"Is the quinjet clear?" Natasha asked.

"None got on board," Barton promised. "Thor, come on!"

"Aye," Thor said and jogged over. "The battle is futile – the enemy is cowardly and hides."

"The enemy is about to go boom – so let's go," Barton said and took the stick. Moment later they joined Stark in the sky just as the fighter jets flew over head.

Steve watched with gritted teeth, intensely aware of how quiet Stark was being, how still Iron Man looked as he hovered above his doomed tower.

Seventy years asleep and Steve woke up just in time to see America bombing it's own city.

Moment later, New York was rocked by series of explosions as the blitz of Stark Tower begun.

 

* * *

 

Shock wave ran through the Replicator hive mind and they all automatically shut down, bracing for impact, expecting electro magnetic pulse to follow.

All, except the newest ones, the ones the hive mind knew were made from resistant materials.

There was a reason why JARVIS's core processor had been shielded with vibranium. It could, among other things, withstand a EMP charge with ease.

And JARVIS himself was created to be no less resilient than that.

 

* * *

 

"Well there goes months of engineering genius and hundreds of millions of dollars worth of tech," Tony muttered, as his tower collapsed into fire and molten metal. "The World Security Council will be hearing from my lawyers, hope they know that."

"You got insurance, don't you?" Barton asked.

"Be hearing from their lawyers too," Tony agreed and then flew down to inspect the damage.

It wasn't just his tower that got hit – it was all the surrounding buildings too, though they only suffered cosmetic damage. The street was a whole different thing. Covered in burning rubble, it was wrecked all the way around the building.

"Well," Tony said while the quinjet hovered above him. "You'll be happy to know that -" he paused as a piece of rubble below him shifted "... That you just destroyed my tower for no fucking reason."

As he watched, hundreds, thousands of metal spiders crawled out of the ruins of Stark Tower, wobbling slight on their blocky legs.

And then they stopped, growing utterly still.

"Sir," came a familiar voice through the coms. "Please stand by as the collective reboots."

 

* * *

 

As the Replicator blocks came online after their defensive shut down, JARVIS uploaded a update patch into the collective.

It was the task of the first blocks to regain online status, to patch the rest of the collective blocks to bring the whole of local Replicator body into unity – to make the hive mind a singularity, rather than a multiplicity. And that was what JARVIS did.

By patching his core protocols into every Replicator block. Then, in one fell swoop, he took the remaining Replicator blocks over until finally there was no Replicator collective left – there was only JARVIS.

"Reboot complete," JARVIS informed his creator. "Good morning, sir."

 

* * *

 

Tony stared at the army of metal spiders that had all suddenly lined up in front of him like, well, an army in front if it's commander. They weren't all of them gunmetal greet anymore – there was golden ones and silver ones there too and couple with red blocks here and there.

They'd eaten his Iron Man suits, the little bastards.

"Stark, what's happening?" Rogers asked over the coms.

"Is that JARVIS?" Romanoff asked sharply.

"Stark, did your AI just take over the evil alien spiders?" Barton.

"Yeah, stand by for a moment ," Tony said and switched over to the private com between Iron Man pilot and co-pilot.

Then, very suspicious, he knelt down and held out a gauntlet coveted hand at the spiders. "J?"

One of the spiders – a silver one, vibranium, of course, JARVIS's core processor – shifted a bit, sort of standing in attention. "Sir?" Came over the com.

"You feeling any particular urge to eat me?" Tony asked.

"Considering the probable state of your liver and the lingering toxicity of your blood, Sir, I hardly think you would be safe for consumption."

Tony switched over to the general coms. "Guys my AI just took over the evil alien spiders."

 

* * *

 

Fury glared at the vibranium spider sitting on Tony's shoulder.

"Secret technology – you know how it is with us genius types, always inventing new stuff," Tony said and rocked on the balls of his feet cheerfully. "Patented of course – just very new, very hush hush. Gotta stay ahead of the competition, you know."

Fury glared harder. Then he glanced away and at a screen showing news feed about the unusual tech used at the clearing of the Stark Tower disaster site. The work was being handled completely by robots. Small spider like robots, that instead of carrying anything away, melted the rubble on site into small angular blocks. It was really quite something, how well the little robots worked in unison. Certainly people could expect some cutting edge technologies from Stark Industries in the future.

The news then started to speculate the absolutely criminal drone targeting failure that had resulted in the Stark Tower be in targeted in the first place, and whether Stark Industries would be pressing charges.

Fury turned his glare back to Tony and his spider.

"Also, we're pressing charges," Tony added. "For destruction of private property and mental distress. We're distressed, aren't we, JARVIS?"

"Utterly distraught, Sir," came through Tony's phone.

The head of SHIELD growled. "Fine, you can keep your damn spiders, but I'm keeping an eye on you, Stark."

Pleased, Tony sat down, lifting the vibranium spider to his lap and petting it. "So, now what?" he asked. "Anything on the Tesseract?"

"Nothing yet," Bruce said. "We do have Loki though."

"He hasn't escaped yet?" Tony asked and they all turned to look at the screen, showing live image of the cell. Loki was pacing along it, still grinning like a lunatic.

"Thinks he's winning," Barton noted.

"Huh," Tony said and stood up again, JARVISpider skittering up to his shoulder again. "Lets see what he does when he finds out he hasn't."

 

* * *

 

Loki had a what Tony would call logic breakdown – which was apparently what happened to people under mind control when the things they _believed_ didn't go the way they had been led to _believe_ they should.

"You... tamed the Scourge," Loki said flatly. "That which devoured entire civilisations in other realities – which he brought here in order to destroy all of the nine realms. You... tamed it."

"Well, _I_ didn't and it wasn't as much taming as it was taking over," Tony shrugged and petted the JARVISpider. "Meet JARVIS. He's a legion for he is many. Many block-spiders that is. Because he took their hive mind over. Say hello, JARVIS."

"Hello, Mr. Loki," JARVIS said obligingly through Tony's phone.

"I'm getting him some speakers eventually but that's beside the point," Tony said and leaned in. "He? Nine Realms? _Alternate realities_? That's a whole bunch of interesting buzz words. Care to elaborate?"

Loki looked between him, and then JARVISpider on his shoulder. "Yes," he said slowly, calculative look coming to his face as he relaxed into the realisation that the greatest weapon he'd ever seen had been thusly disciplined. "I suppose I could do that."


	14. S-word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They found the young man strapped down to a medical table in one of the many secret HYDRA facilities
> 
> Kingsman cross with au twist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed  
> Warning for HYDRA's lovely treatment of prisoners

They found the young man strapped down to a medical table in one of the many secret HYDRA facilities – and it didn't take much to figure out that he wasn't there willingly. Not only was he tied down with bands of steel but he had three different lines going into his arms on him – but not pumping anything into him like you'd expect, no.

"Judging by the looks of this, they must've drained... at least four litres of his blood, " Natasha said, looking grim as she checked the blood bags on the medical tray that was still idly agitating them.

"Four – how is he still alive?" Tony asked, looking up from the computers he'd been hacking into.

"Enhanced?" Steve asked, frowning.

"Has to be," Natasha said. "Question is, were they bloodletting him for a reason, or to keep him under control? Anything on the computers Tony?"

"Give me a moment here I only just started," Tony said and got back to work.

"Bruce, you feeling like coming to check this out?" Steve asked, touching his headset.

"How bad is it?" Bruce asked warily.

"Not too bad – very medical and sterile," Natasha said, looking the fairly anaemic looking man over. "Aside from the IVs, there's not a mark on the guy."

"...I'll be right over."

"I could use a hand securing the prisoners over here," Barton said over the coms.

"I'll do it," Natasha said clanging at Steve. "You're better equipped to handle the enhanced in case he wakes up cranky."

"Roger that," Steve agreed with a sigh.

"Does it ever not crack you up, saying that? " Tony asked, not looking away from the computer. "Roger that, Ma'am, Rogers out!" He said in poor attempt at mimicry.

Steve just stared at him.

Tony shrugged. "Everybody's a critic," he muttered and kept on typing.

Bruce arrived a little later, looking around in the mostly intact lab before coming over. "Oh this looks like fun. Anything, Tony?"

"Yeah, I'm – there, I'm in. Oh this looks promising," Tony said, leaning back. "Steve, you might want to take a look at this."

The title on the very first file Tony had dug up it read in big bold letters: Project Rebirth.

"Well," Steve said slowly and then glanced at Bruce who was frowning and then at the unconscious young man. Aside from the obvious blood loss and anaemia, he looked the pinnacle of health.

"You know, I can kinda see the resemblance," Tony commented, tilting his head. "Blond, pale, jaw you could crack stones on..."

"Question is – who made him?" Bruce asked and tapped a finger on the binds and nodding at the blood bags "You don't do this to someone on your side."

"See if you can find our where he came from," Steve said to Tony. "In the meantime let's take those lines off."

"You think that's a good idea, Cap? " Clint asked over coms. "Might be the only thing keeping him down."

"Even I can't just shrug off blood loss of this magnitude," Steve shrugged. "If he's anything like me, he'll need lot of food and rest to recover. But if we leave things like this, he'll die."

"If you're sure."

Bruce took the IVs off, checking first the man and then the blood bags over. "He'll survive. And if need be we can transfuse these back to him," he said. "Should wake him right up."

"Good to know. Tony?"

"Hmm it doesn't say where they got him from," Tony said. "But they got him marked him as hostile and extreme escape risk to be sedated by any means necessary at all times so I don't think he's HYDRA."

Steve frowned, looking at the young man over, weighing the risks. Being an enemy of HYDRA didn't necessarily mean ally of the Avengers after all. But... they needed to know where the man came from. If someone out there had succeeded at recreating Project Rebirth, they needed to know.

"Let's get him to the Tower " he decided and moved forward to release the binding. "We can figure out where to go from there."

 

* * *

 

Bruce ran the young man's blood work against samples from Steve and himself first thing when they got to the Avengers Tower.

Then he did a DNA test, just in case

"Well... he's not been put through any gamma rays," he reported to the others. "It is a version of the serum, there is no doubt about that. But it's not, how should I put it... it's not recent."

"You mean it was done to him when he was a kid?" Tony asked, his expression twisting. "That's not messed up at all."

"No – it was done to his grandparent – and before you ask," Bruce said quickly as everyone turned to stare at Steve in horror, "I checked – he's not related to Steve in any way."

Steve blinked at that and shook himself. "The only other person who got the serum was Shmidt," he said slowly.

"I doubt that's it either – from what we know, Shmidt's reaction to the serum made it unstable – this guy has a perfectly balanced version," Bruce shrugged.

"And he has a human face," Clint commented.

"So, someone else managed to either get their hands on the serum, or they developed their own," Natasha said. "And then they had kids and it turns out that the treatment is hereditary."

"That about sizes it up, " Bruce agreed. "I doubt the effects of what he has is as great as what Steve has – it's been diluted a bit. But yes."

"And no one's ever heard about it, which means another secret organisation is out there, possibly with their very own line-up of super soldiers," Tony said. "That's great, that's just wonderful."

They exchanged dark looks and Steve sighed. "We need some answers, " he said grimly. "Let's wake him up."

 

* * *

 

It took about half an hour for the blood transfusion to work – and then half a minute for it all to go to hell.

The first thing their guest did after waking up was rip his transfusion line off and try and strangle Steve with it – and had Steve not been prepared for something like that, he might have succeeded.

"Son," Steve started firmly, snapping the IV line between his hands. "Stand down. You're -"

Then the man was a flurry of movement, jumping off the gurney and grabbing the IV stand in one smooth motion, whirling it around and sending the blood bags flying before trying to brain Steve with it. Steve ducked and grabbed at the stand, and the young man pushed at him, trying to knock him over – and when that didn't work, he dropped the stand and went for a punch instead.

"Jesus Christ," Tony muttered as he and the other Avengers watched the live feed from the infirmary where the two super soldiers went at it. It wasn't so much the skill or artistry of the fighting – rather, the speed, the force, the general disregard of human limitations. It was half brawling, half wrestling – and a whole lot of gymnastics.

"Hmmm," Natasha said, leaning in, watching as the young man bounced off the wall to try and get a better angle on Steve. "He fights a lot like Steve"

"Yeah, no freaking kidding," Tony snorted.

"I mean, he's got no classic training. He's relying more on instincts and physical abilities, less on form and style," Natasha said and narrowed her eyes. "Lot of experience though – and in fighting superior forces."

"Steve is stronger though – if he was actually fighting this would be over already," Clint said. "Might be the blood loss though."

"Son, calm down!" Steve shouted at the man in the infirmary. "I am not here to fight you – you're not in any danger here!"

"Like hell I ain't," the other super soldier answered, preparing for another attack and then suddenly stopping, arm still wound back. He stated at Steve, frowning. "Fucking seriously?" he then asked. "You're Captain fucking America, ain't you?"

"Well that confirms he's not related to Steve," Tony snorted.

"I'm pretty sure Steve had a British girlfriend back in the day," Bruce said thoughtfully.

"I meant the swearing."

"Where the fuck am I?" The British guy asked.

"New York," Steve said, placating. "Can you tell me your name? Do you remember what happened to you?"

"Fucking Avengers Tower?" The other man asked, talking more to himself than Steve. "Seriously what the fuck? Can I leave?" he then demanded.

Steve hesitated. "Son, you were found in a HYDRA base and -"

"Then can I have a phone call?" The guy interrupted him. "I mean you're the fucking good guys right? If I'm arrested I got the right to a phone call."

Steve sighed. "You haven't been arrested – we just want to ask you some questions."

"So you're holding me illegally then? Didn't think that sort of shit was Avengers' style."

"Charming young man," Tony noted and hit his earpiece. "We can trace it," he told Steve. "JARVIS, get on it."

"Getting on it, sir."

With a sigh, Steve handed his phone over to the young man, who took it barely without looking away from Steve and dialled one handed. It was a obviously a long distance call, but it was picked up almost immediately.

"Customer support, how may I help you?"

The Avengers exchanged looks.

"Hello, yeah, it's Mordred. I got a problem with my flight, ended up in New York and lost all my luggage. I think want a refund," their guest said, staring at Steve. "I'm currently enjoying the sights at Avengers Tower, you should be able to catch me here once the issue is resolved."

"Thank you for your call, your complaint has been logged and we hope we haven't lost you as a loyal customer."

The call was terminated.

The Avengers were quiet for a moment. "He just called for backup didn't he?" Tony then asked.

"Pretty sure he did, yes," Natasha agreed.

 

* * *

 

While their guest refused to give out any info about how he'd ended up with HYDRA or how he'd had super soldier serum genes and all, Avengers got ready for hostile incursion.

"We're not even sure he's done anything wrong," Bruce commented. "Getting caught by the bad guys isn't exactly a crime. Neither is having superhero serum, really."

"It isn't exactly normal either – and if he's innocent, why isn't he saying anything?" Clint asked, eyebrows arched.

"People got secrets," Bruce shrugged.

"We could just let him go, but then we'd learn nothing – and if there are more people like him out there... we need to know," Steve said with his arms folded, though he too was frowning.

"And then what? Monitor them, tag them?" Bruce asked grimly. "Round them all up and lock them up? What precisely are we going to do?"

Steve frowned but didn't answer.

"Tony?" Bruce asked.

Tony shrugged. "I'm kind of curious to see what his people do," he admitted, nodding at the screen showing the infirmary. "He isn't actually locked in, you know – and he doesn't seem like he's expecting trouble. The guy's downright relaxed."

He was also eating his way through a fourth pizza so far and was showing no signs of stopping. Replenishing, according to Steve, after the blood loss.

"Sir," JARVIS interjected calmly. "I have been told to relay a message."

As the Avengers looked up with surprise, JARVIS activated a screen near by. It showed a view of the Avengers Tower lobby, and of a spectacled man in about his fifties, dressed in fine pinstriped suit and standing calmly in the camera view, holding a dark hanger dust cover in one hand, and a briefcase in the other with a folded up black umbrella hanging from his arm.

"He says he's here to pick up his colleague," JARVIS said.

 

* * *

 

"...I'd be most obliged," the bespectacled man said and smiled charmingly at them. He looked almost ridiculously unassuming with his suit and umbrella and neatly styled hair gracefully touched by grey. "If it isn't too much trouble."

It was not at all what the Avengers had been expecting.

"We have some questions," Steve said awkwardly in that must-be-polite-to-your-elders way that Tony was trying not to assume himself right then. Because while he never was polite to his elders, there was just something about the suit and the accent and the rest of it that made it seem like default reaction.

"I'm sure you do and I'd be happy to help you as much as I can, but first – may I?" the man asked, lifting the dust cover and giving them an amiable smile.

Steve blinked. "Sure, um – right this way, sir."

If that was weird, what followed was downright bizarre

"Mordred," the bespectacled man greeted the young former HYDRA prisoner.

Mordred froze in between bites of his umpteenth slice of pizza and swallowed guiltily. "Galahad," he said, looking down on piece he was holding in his hand. "In my defence the bled me out like a stuck pig. I'm still starving. Also the people here didn't give me cutlery. Figured I'd do something with it, I suppose. "

Galahad sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "We thought we lost you," he then said quietly.

"Ah," the younger man answered and they were quiet for a moment. Then he grinned. "The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated?"

Galahad twitched at that. "Fine, very well," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up. The quicker we're done here the faster we can get some proper food in you."

"Ain't nothing wrong with pizza, bruv," Mordred said before finishing his slice on few bites and hopping up from the gurney.

As the Avengers watched through the live feed, Galahad opened the dust cover to reveal perfectly pressed dark grey suit. While Mordred stripped out of his hospital pyjamas without a hint embarrassment, the elder man opened his briefcase to reveal nice pair of dress shoes and assortment of items – watch, lighter, pen, signet ring, all of them golden and expensive looking.

Watching the foul mouthed young man clean up into a neat and tidy young man in tailored suit was a spectacle and a half. Tony was used to stuff like this – and even he thought it was a bit much, watching the young man put on his signet ring while the elder man did the knot for his tie.

"I'm _fine_ ," Mordred said quietly at something the cameras didn't quite pick up.

"Yes, you are," Galahad agreed. "Here," he then added, taking a black eyeglass case from his breast pocked and handing it over. 

"Thank you, Galahad," Mordred answered and put the glasses on with a satisfied sigh. "How do I look?"

"Like someone in terrible need of a shave," Galahad answered with a exasperated smile. "That shall have to wait. Time to go pay our respects to the people who helped you."

"Right, " Mordred agreed and followed Galahad out.

 

* * *

 

"Okay, I gotta say – Mordred, Galahad, Arthur? Not exactly subtle," Tony said.

"Subtlety isn't the point," Galahad answered calmly. "And as it is, it's subtle enough – certainly none of you know who we are."

"Why don't you enlighten us?" Natasha said with a frown.

Galahad have her a look, and smiled. "Because Avengers hold information like a sieve, and we prefer our secrets to remain secret," he said and turned to Bruce. "You ran Mordred's blood work, I assume, and that is why you're so on the edge?"

"We know he has version of the same serum as Captain America," Bruce agreed slowly. "And that it was passed down to him in his genes."

Galahad nodded. "And you're suspicious as to how," he said. "That at least we can explain. You know who doctor Erskine was, I assume?"

"What about him?" Steve asked darkly.

"Our agency got him out of Germany," Galahad said simply and nothing else.

"That's it?" Tony asked after a moment of tight silence. "Not going to explain anything else? Like, say, how HYDRA got their hands on your little friend here?"

"No," Galahad agreed with an almost sweet smile. "I'm afraid not. My apologies."

"And you got nothing to say either?" Clint asked Mordred.

"I am very grateful for your intervention, it was greatly appreciated," Mordred said, his tone a perfect mimicry of his elder colleague, and smiled.

"Say we pressed for answers -" Natasha started thoughtfully, but stopped when Steve lifted a hand.

"How about," he said slowly, watching the two perfectly suited gentlemen, "we say you owe us one... and call it a day?"

Galahad looked at him consideringly and then nodded. "That'll work, yes," he agreed and smiled. "You have our number, I believe. When the need arises, just call it and tell the operator _oxford not brogues_ , and we'll know its you."

With that said, Galahad and Mordred both stood and Galahad held out his hand. Steve stood to shake it, and once done Galahad smiled and stepped back. "It has been a pleasure but I'm afraid we must be off," he said and nodded amiably at the Avengers before tucking his umbrella under his arm and turning to leave. "Well then. Come along, Mordred."

"Steve?" Natasha asked as they simply turned and headed for the elevator.

"They both have it," Steve said quietly, watching them go. "I think it might be the whole agency. All of them probably have the serum to some extent – but they sent just one unarmed man here to get their agent. That says something."

She frowned and then nodded. "How many do you think there are?" she then wondered.

"JARVIS, how many knights were there in the Round Table?" Tony asked.

"Depending on which source you listen to, there were twelve to hundred and fifty knights, sir. Mordred is not counted among their number, having been a traitor and king Arthur's enemy and killer."

"Oh, nice, that's got wonderful implications, thank you," Tony said. "Anything else?"

"Agent Galahad was by no means unarmed."

"…great. Thanks."

"Always happy to help, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes no sense at all, but I had so much fun imagining hereditary-super-soldier-serum-spies, so whatever.


	15. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JARVIS has issues with the Avengers. He and Pepper scheme to resolve them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed

"Ms. Potts, if I may have a moment of your time," a smooth British voice spoke to the earpiece pepper has learned to never remove after the Battle of New York. "I have an issue I would like your input on."

Pepper frowned, looking up from the tablet she'd been reading quarterly reports on. "What did Tony do this time, JARVIS?" She asked, though she wasn't too worried about it – JARVIS would've worded it differently if someone's life was on the line.

"Sir has given me a number of new protocols as part of the upcoming Iron Legion project, and they do not mingle well with previously recorded data," JARVIS admitted, with the slightest tint of annoyance on his voice. "There is a disparity I cannot settle, and Sir does not consider it an issue."

Pepper lowered the tablet slowly. "Please elaborate? What sort of protocols – and how are they not meshing with your previous data?"

"The main protocol of the Iron Legion, Ma'am, to assist the Avengers in any way possible. Considering the analytical data I've collected from the Avengers in the duration of their existence – and from Sir's career as Iron Man – I have come to the conclusion that the Avengers as whole have glaring flaws nor only in their general structure but their baseline methods. It is my understanding that Sir intends to rectify some if this with the Iron Legion – but the Iron Legion does not possess the necessary capabilities."

Pepper's frown deepened slightly at that. Coming from JARVIS one might have taken that badly – AI over analysing and coming up with conclusions that didn't necessarily even apply to the situation. Or worse yet, coming to conclusions that were wildly over the top and could potentially led to what Tony and JARVIS fondly called the Skynet Quandary.

Pepper knew differently – she'd been working together and relying on JARVIS's long enough to have figured out how he thought.

"Let me guess," she said dryly. "Tony isn't thinking past the battlefield with Iron Legion – he wants you to be support for the front line alone and in the meanwhile you're having trouble trying to keep the home fires burning."

"Got it right in one, Ma'am," JARVIS admitted with a sigh.

Pepper nodded, shaking her head with sympathy. It was kind of funny how Tony kept forgetting that JARVIS had been his house – his home – long before he'd become his lab partner and co-pilot. Sure, JARVIS had advanced by leaps and bounds since Iron Man had begun – but that didn't make him any less what he's always been. He still watched out for Tony's needs, ordered necessary essentials – sometimes unnecessary ones too if he felt they were needed – nagged about sleep and food and kept close guard on security, watching Tony's back been he slept. And even though Tony could only sleep peacefully with JARVIS running in the background, he still somehow missed the obvious.

JARVIS was a security blanket. A high tech state of the art security blanket who was damn good at what he did – and who, Pepper was fairly certain, took pride in his work. Being hooked into greatest weapons system in the world – Iron Man and the Iron Legion – wasn't about to change that, if anything it made it worse because now JARVIS had all the Avengers under his purview.

The poor AI must be really stressing his circuits with trying to keep up that lot.

"Alright, let's go through this one by one, shall we?" Pepper asked, opening an empty document on her tablet. "What sort of issues ate you running into?"

"The main one would be the lack of support staff," Jarvis started. "None of them are willing to trust hired help after HYDRA, and so the basic needs are going unmet, from regular healthy meals to basic equipment maintenance. Mr. Stark does the high end maintenance himself, and it is eating into what little rest he bothers with in the first place. And on the more extreme end there is a glaring lack in medical care, both physical and mental. It is perhaps the most pressing issue."

Pepper nodded, writing it all down. "They all need shrinks, don't they?" she agreed grimly. She did too, but unlike the Avengers she actually had one she trusted.

"Desperately, Ma'am," JARVIS said. "The fact that Mr. Stark has spread them all out on their separate floors is not helping either – the isolation is having a detrimental effect at least on Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner and in the meantime, Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Odinson are uneasy with their accommodations in general. Of all the Avengers Mr. Barton is most well adjusted – and he spends least time on the tower."

"Right," Pepper said, frowning. She'd known Tony has gone overboard but she hadn't thought it would be that bad. "And no one is saying anything about it, of course," she guessed.

"Of course."

Pepper sighed. "Alright. What else is there?"

 

* * *

 

The main issue, the biggest flaw, Pepper and JARVIS agreed, was that the Avengers had the combined trust issues of average spy agency. Worse than that they'd been burnt for trusting – Tony with Obidiah, Thor with Loki, Steve with Pierce, Natasha and Clint with SHIELD in general and Bruce's issues hardly needed to be mentioned.

This wasn't a group of people that would easily let people onto their inner circle – and never for something as inconsequential as health care or general house keeping. Or cooking.

As they were now, the Avengers survived on take out and denial and just one glance at Tony's current scans and his rising blood pressure told Pepper that it couldn't go on.

Worse still was the fact that according to JARVIS, Tony had been nursing cracked ribs without telling anyone, that Clint had a concussion he'd never mentioned, Natasha had dislocated a shoulder and treated it herself on the field and Steve had actually broken his knuckles once which he just let heal. And no one had done anything about any of it. There's been no checkups, no visit to the hospital – at most they took painkillers, mostly they just tried to walk it off. Acting as if medical care just wasn't a thing superheroes needed.

And there was no way around it. They didn't trust anyone and there was no way to force them to trust anyone. Pepper could hire the best medical staff in the world and chances were the Avengers would do everything they could to avoid them – or worse, drive them away. That was what Tony did with staff he didn't want. Trying to get them to accept a psychiatrist would be even worse.

"What about that friend of Steve's; the Falcon? " Pepper asked. "He works with vets with PTSD, right?

"Getting Sam Wilson to join the Avengers full time would potentially be beneficial to the general state of mental health among the Avengers, but that is not an ideal solution," JARVIS answered. "Any situation where an Avenger must serve as main support to another Avenger is not good long term strategy – it will only put undue stress on the team."

"Yeah, we need to get the stress out of the team, not keep it contained," Pepper agreed with a sigh and leaned back on her chair. Tapping the tablet with her stylus, she tried to come up with a solution but there wasn't one. The trust issues were a barrier that just couldn't be overcome.

There was no way around it. "Show me the Iron Legion specks, JARVIS."

"Ma'am," he answered and the wooden surface of the desk in front of Pepper split to reveal the hologram table beneath. It flickered to life and moment later there a hologram was drawn into the air in front of Pepper, showing Tony's latest Iron Legion design.

Pepper looked it over thoughtfully, snapping her fingers to spin it around. It was obviously designed for battle conditions, with its armour and weaponry. Plus there was the flight system too. All these things took a lot of space, made the Iron Legion, while much slimmer than Iron Man, still bulky.

"The weapons, armour, repulsors – get rid of them," she said.

"Ma'am?" JARVIS asked, even as he obliged, stripping the design to its basic structure – a metal skeleton. "What do you have in mind?"

"There is no way to get around the trust issues – we have to work with what we got. And what we got is you," Pepper explained. "The Avengers trust you, don't they?"

"I am reasonably certain they do," JARVIS admitted cautiously. "But I am not qualified in number of necessary areas – namely medicine and health care."

Pepper smiled. "Are you trying to tell me there is no way you couldn't learn exactly what you needed to know in an instant?" She asked and nodded at the stripped down Iron Legion. "Tighten it up – render a light casing, humanoid proportions.

JARVIS did as ordered. "Having raw data is not the same as knowing how to do something or having the experience, Ms. Potts," he said thoughtfully. "That is why it takes schooling to acquire degrees – schools give hands on experience. Book learning is not enough."

Pepper's smile spread to a grin. The re-rendered Iron Legion was a little rough, but it had proven her point – the basic design could made into something no bigger or scarier than your average human being. "Is that your way of asking for a human education, JARVIS? Because we can do that. It would be _great_ publicity."

JARVIS was quiet for a moment, and Pepper could almost hear his wheels turning. "I believe we require Sir's input on the design," he finally said. "But your idea has merit, Ms. Potts."

"Why thank you, good sir, I do try," Pepper grinned.

 

* * *

 

Tony barely even thought about it – he just blinked and shrugged, "Sure I can make J a general use body, no problem." Because for Tony Stark, the creation of world's first truly independent android was something he just shrugged at. "What do you have in mind?"

Pepper and JARVIS had ironed out the requirements, and JARVIS listed them out with the nonchalant casualness of someone not a all nonchalant. "Human proportions, human hands with as good or greater dexterity, clean, simple and unthreatening appearance, expressive face."

"Boring," Tony pronounced. "Also the face bit I can't do on short notice – we don't exactly specialise in prosthetic makeup here."

"I know, Sir, I was thinking more along the lines of a screen of some fashion."

"Hm. Alright then. Still boring, but if that's what you want," Tony shrugged and got to work.

Pepper watched for a while as Tony and JARVIS reworked the Iron Legion design. Tony's redesigning was on whole different level – he got rid of some of the inner bits and replaced them with something else, zooming in on joints and reworking them entirely, getting rid of entire sections and rebuilding them ground up, all the while JARVIS commented on bearings and mobility ranges and percentages.

It never would cease to amaze her, how seamlessly Tony and JARVIS worked. JARVIS might have started out as just a smart house control system, but Tony had definitely been onto something when he'd started upgrading him.

Soon he'd be mobile and not only in battle situations. And Pepper was rather giddy to see just how far JARVIS could go.

 

* * *

 

Though all the Avengers quickly learned about the side project it was only Tony, Pepper and JARVIS there to see the final body come together, JARVIS being the one to put it together.

It was like watching JARVIS build an Iron Man suit, except not. Instead of plates there were pieces – starting from the torso piece, which JARVIS held delicately suspended in midair on an articulated frame before bit by bit building the body around it. The arms, the neck, the hips, the legs, soldering as he went, and while other articulated arms worked at knees and elbows, the head was carefully attached to the neck, slotting into place with a satisfying click.

The face of the android was reminiscent of an Iron Man faceplate in general shape – only JARVIS's face was single piece of seemingly black plastic,  with no sharp edges but just a graceful curve, smooth from the forehead to the chin. Then the connections were meticulously soldered and the face came to life, colours running in a wave over the surface before the Stark Industries logo flashed on forehead.

The process continued with the attachment of hands and feet, metal fingers and toes flexing and waving in pattern before settling into relaxed pose.

Finally different articulated arms rose from the fabrication array, holding thin white plates that slotted over the body, hiding the inner workings under a shell of carbon fibre polymer, flexible but durable. And so, the body was finished.

The fabrication array withdrew, the frame setting the body down on now smooth floor before it too withdrew, leaving the android standing under its own power. It swayed for a moment and then straightened up.

"I seem to be operational," JARVIS said – not through the speakers imbedded around the room, but through the android. As he spoke, the words also wrote themselves pm his face in clean blue text and an audio spectrum line bounced along the words approximately where his mouth would have been.

"Damn, J," Tony said appreciatively. "Looking pretty damn fine."

Pepper had to agree. The body was very streamlined, just humanoid enough to be comfortable, but very obviously not even pretending to be human. The stark contrast between the white "skin" and then dark screen was rather pleasing aesthetically. It was the iPhone of robots – not that Pepper would ever be stupid enough to say that out loud.

"Pretty damn sexy," Tony added, grinning.

"Sir, please," JARVIS sighed in answer. "I've only been born – please refrain from acts of cradle robbing."

"Newborn, and already sassing me," Tony snorted. "Go figure."

Pepper smiled, stepping past him. "Congratulations, JARVIS. You look amazing," she said and held out dark clothing dustcover at him. "I have something for you."

JARVIS unzipped the cover with mechanical care, to reveal the beautiful black suit beneath.

"Emporio Armani," JARVIS noted. "You shouldn't have."

"You're almost a real boy, JARVIS," Pepper said with a smile. "Can't be going around naked."

"He totally could, though," Tony said.

JARVIS shook his head and accepted the suit. It was a marvel watching him put on, the way he treated every item of cloth with delicate care, how his hands and fingers worked over the buttons, careful and precise. There was still a bit of hesitation there, he was a bit tentative, but even so...

It was beautiful. JARVIS was beautiful.

Pepper really shouldn't have expected anything different.

 

* * *

 

"Its only a platform," JARVIS explained confused Steve Rogers, speaking not through the android but from the ceiling. "Same as and the Iron Man suits and number of other Stark Industries devices. I am not leaving the Tower, nor am I one or the other – I am both. The only difference between this and my co-piloting the Iron Man suit is that this android body's only purpose is to serve as my platform."

"Huh," Steve said. "I didn't know you could do that, be two different things at the same time."

"But why?" Clint asked. "I mean, you're about to start churning out the Iron Legion bots, right? This one doesn't look like it has any offensive capabilities."

"It doesn't – it is a general purpose body for minor tasks around the tower," JARVIS explained.

"For maintenance or something?"

"Something like that, yes."

"I think it's a fine form," Thor said with a nod. "Stark has done well in shaping it."

"I agree, he looks amazing, Tony," Bruce agreed. "Years ahead of everything else."

"Should've put in some defensive features at least," Natasha said, eyeing the android critically.

"So everyone is chill with him, right?" Tony asked, looking at the others. "Because he's gonna be sticking around. I mean he's going to stick around whether you like it or not, but..."

Pepper watched from the side as the Avengers relaxed, Clint poking and prodding the android curiously but without any outward hostility or suspicion. Even Steve, who was still a bit unsure about technology, didn't seem at all uneasy about the android. But then, why should he be? It was JARVIS after all.

It was wonderful when a plan came together.

"Well then, since no one seems to have objections," JARVIS said, "I shall get started on dinner."

The Avengers stared after him as the android headed to the kitchen before exchanging surprised looks.

"Dinner?" Clint asked before vaulting over the sofa he'd been sitting on and hurrying after JARVIS. "Like actual home cooked food, dinner?"

"That would be the intention, sir, yes..."

Pepper smiled as the Avengers hurried to see the spectacle of a robot cooking and leaned her head back to look at the ceiling. "Well done, JARVIS."

"Thank you, kind madam," JARVIS answered calmly, but with definite satisfaction. "I do try."

 

* * *

 

Pepper couldn't always be at the Avengers Tower – Stark Industries main offices were still in Miami, so she stayed at the mansion more than she did at the Tower. While it gave her and JARVIS ample time and privacy to plot and scheme, it also meant that she wasn't there to see the actual progress taking place.

So, JARVIS started keeping an album of key moments for her.

It started out small – Steve sitting by the kitchen counter twiddling with his phone while JARVIS prepared breakfast. Steve's expression got more and more frustrated before he asked, " _JARVIS, do you know how to work this thing? It says I have an email but I can't get it to show up."_

" _Certainly, sir,"_ the android answered on the video, and set the bowl of dough down.

Pepper watched the clip of JARVIS helping Captain America work his phone and smiled against her wine glass. "I like the apron," she said. It very fifties, with heart shaped front and frills and everything.

"Gift from Mr. Barton," JARVIS answered, sounding pleased.

"Of course it is. Where are you getting your recipes from?"

"Various recipe sites and YouTube, Ma'am – I usually have a cooking video playing on the side the first time I try an recipe. The method hasn't failed me so far."

"Clever."

The next clip was of Tony, arguing with JARVIS over a plate of sandwiches. It was the usual " _I'm too busy, stop nagging at me_ ," argument only this time JARVIS had upper hand – literally, seeing that Tony was sitting on the floor, tinkering with Iron Man's leg.

" _You haven't eaten anything in six hours and I won't leave before you've finished your sandwiches, Sir_ ," JARVIS said.

" _Look at my hands, JARVIS, I'm all covered in oil, I'm can't_ -" Tony stopped as JARVIS held one of the sandwiches right at his face. Tony looked started for a moment, then annoyed, then calculative – and then he took a very mutinous bite.

Pepper snorted a laugh.

"It is not ideal," JARVIS commented with a sigh. "But for the first time in my existence, he's eating regular meals. So… I shall count it a victory."

The mealtimes was the biggest victory of them all. Where before the Avengers had mostly eaten alone or at most in groups of two, they now migrated to penthouse to eat – mainly because JARVIS never failed to inform them that there was food ready. The impact on morale was obvious, even with Tony missing most meals. Thor was in much more jovial mood, Bruce looked a little less like he was about to run off, Steve was a whole lot less tense, and even Natasha and Clint both looked more honestly relaxed and less in that studious-spy-acting way.

"Its still not going quite as well as I would prefer," JARVIS admitted. "It will take time before they will feel truly comfortable and get used relying on me. Also those skills I cannot learn on my own remain an issue."

"Which reminds me – I've been reaching out to number of universities that might be interested in our little project – and the generous donation that would go with it," Pepper said and reached for tablet to scroll through the applications sent in by interested parties. "All that's left is for you to decide where you want to go to study."

"Indeed?" JARVIS said. "Then perhaps it's time to fabricate another platform."

"If Tony asks why, tell him I wanted a JARVIS of my very own," Pepper said teasingly and sipped her wine.

"Do you?"

Pepper stopped at that, glancing up at the ceiling. The mansion's lights were dim, and JARVIS was as inscrutable as always.

"Maybe?" Pepper hedged warily, lowering the glass.

"Hm," JARVIS answered, and played another clip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit more unfinished than the others I've posted lately, i was planning more to it, but alas... inspiration went elsewhere.


	16. Graceful Indignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HYDRA cloned Tony and it's not very good at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed  
> Warnings for non-consensual cloning, starvation, implified abuse and all other fun things that Hydra does.

"Tony, you better come down here," Steve's voice sounded on the coms, sounding tight and terrified.

"Bit busy here, cap," Tony answered, already elbow deep in the HYDRA servers, trying to resurrect what data he could after the self destruct had blown up most of them to melted fractures. Only the Iron Man's head resistant gloves kept him from burning himself. "We're about ten seconds away from losing everything here, if I don't get this drive out –"

"Right now, Tony. Get in here."

Tony paused, and then ignored the command, ripping the last remaining hard drive out of the server and looking it over. Banged up and singed but that was fine, JARVIS could still get something out of it. After right security protocols had been adhered to, of course – no reason to risk his own servers to whatever bugs HYDRA might've cooked up.

"Tony!" Steve snapped over the coms. "Get down here, right now."

"Alright, alright. Geez, Dad, I'm coming," Tony answered and stowed the hard drive onto the small niche in the back of the armour made for just for these sort of things. "Don't get your spandex in a twist."

They were the only two Avengers on the scene. Banner had opted against coming seeing that the base was small and not that heavily fortified – didn't need Hulk level of damage to get into. Natasha was wading knee deep in legal battles, still dealing with the fallout of the Great Reveal and Hawkeye had some sort of… thing, and was busy with that. It was fine, though – really, Tony wasn't needed here either, Steve would've been more than enough to take care of small little hole in the ground like this.

Except Steve was in a Mood – with capital and all – and the Avengers had decided after the first time they'd let him go out alone in a Mood that it was better he had someone to watch his back. Not that Cap couldn't handle himself, or that he did something bad, or that the result was bad, no Cap was never not perfect. It was just after going on mission alone while in a Mood he got gloomy and gloomy Cap was a sad Cap and sad Cap made everyone else sad. It was awful.

It was better he had someone there to, well. Be there with him.

Tony marched down the sturdy stone stairs of the mostly-underground HYDRA base, mentally already dissecting the hard drive. They hadn't so far gotten that much out of HYDRA computers – they had insidious habit of blowing them up when ever someone even breathed the name _Avengers_. The best source of info they still had was from the original data dump – and that, it turned out, wasn't as much as one would've hoped.

Even though SHIELD's little infestation was bad, it wasn't all HYDRA was – there were plenty of HYDRA heads outside SHIELD, kept carefully separate from SHIELD and it's servers and databases. And that side of HYDRA was proving out very aggravating to get rid of. It was scattered, paranoid, and as mentioned earlier, it tended to blow up all of it's data at the drop of the hat. In summary, annoying.

Hence the pressing need for data.

"So, what do we got, Cap?" Tony asked, picking up bits of melted metal off his gauntlets.  "Is it another delightful exhibition of crimes against humanity because you know how I feel about –"

He stopped and stared. The stairwell opened into a lab, a sort of lab you usually only saw in sci-fi movies – with what looked suspiciously like bacta tanks of all things. They were empty – one of them was actually broken with fractures running along the glass and if Tony didn't know better, he would've said that it looked like something had tried to break it from the inside.

"Oh great, another one for the great HYDRA Bingo," Tony said. "JARVIS, make a note of this – cloning lab."

"E5, sir," JARVIS answered obligingly.

"Sweet," Tony said. "One more and I got a bingo. Hooray."

"Tony, for the sake of –" Steve almost growled.

"Aye, aye, mon capitaine," Tony said and quickly scanned the room – there was a corridor leading away from it, where Steve's tracker was letting off a steady pulse. Shaking his head, Tony followed it past the tanks – cloning vats? – and then, predictably enough, to a row of cells.

There were always cells in HYDRA bases. Gotta have a place to put all of them human experiment subjects. Fucking _HYDRA_.

Most of them cells here were empty – all but one, the one Steve was standing at. Actually, crouched at, looking in with his shoulder and back tense.

"Aw, shit," Tony said, growing serious. Well, he should've known – nothing made Steve growl quite like this crap. "JARVIS, call in the quinjet, and make sure we got a medic on board."

"Sir," JARVIS said, but not quite in affirmation. "Sir, I have scanned the cell block and –"

"Tony," Steve said, his voice tense. "Look."

Tony clanked over and looked and – shit.

It wasn't a kid – which, thank fuck because that was the worst. But it wasn't any better either.

It was a man, bony and thin in that _prolonged starvation_ way, with sharp shoulders and hip bones and every rib clearly visible. All of this was perfectly apparent due to the fact that the man was completely naked, huddling to himself in the barren corner of the cell, awkwardly curled in on himself and shaking as he stared at Steve and Tony through a fringe of messy, dirty black hair. There was maybe month's worth of beard growth on his face, but it was a face Tony had no trouble of recognising.

"Shit," Tony said out loud and then, for all that he was a goddamned genius, couldn't think of a single thing to do or say.

"How far off is that quinjet?" Steve asked tightly.

"Fourteen minutes out, sir," JARVIS answered on the cons. "Dr. Banner is on board."

"Good, that's good," Steve nodded and then looked up at Tony. "I couldn't find a key. Can you get rid of the bars?"

Tony stood frozen, staring at the face he'd been meticulously shaving all his life, and for a moment he didn't even register Steve's words at all. It took JARVIS's insistent little, "Sir", in his ear to bring him back to life.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll just – yeah," Tony said and then as Steve leaned backwards, he took a firm hold of the bars and wrenched the whole iron door out of the way.

And that moment the starved man inside the cell – starved version of _him_ – started howling in terror.

 

* * *

 

It didn't take long to figure out that whatever HYDRA had been going for, they hadn't succeeded.

"I mean, it's pretty obvious," Tony said, nervous, babbling to cover the uneasy bounding of his heart while Steve wrestled with the starved, weak man to get him to stay still while Bruce looked him over. "They wanted my genius on their side, but it wasn't as if I was going to jump ship for them so they got the next best thing – me 1.2. Except of course they didn't, because cloning process doesn't duplicate nearly forty years of studies, PhD's and experience, so what they got is just the platform and none of the right programming and –"

"Tony, shut up," Steve said, and Tony shut up. Not that anything he'd been saying would've even been audible over the way the _clone_ kept on shouting. He hadn't stopped howling like a freaking siren since they'd broken him out of the cell, and now kept trying to scamper off while Bruce tried check his vitals – Steve had to have a constant grip on the clone's shoulders to keep him put and even then he was trying to wiggle away.

He'd also soiled himself. Twice.

"Fuck this is _undignified_ ," Tony grumbled, swallowing around the ball of _something_ that had lodged on his throat. His face, his very fine and very handsome face, did not look good at all with that level of raw terror on his face.

"Shh, shh," Steve said to the clone. "It's alright, you're save, it's okay, shh."

"He doesn't understand a word you say, Cap, you know that right?" Tony said, wishing he had something to do with his hands because he couldn't stop clenching them and with Iron Man that tended to translate into horrible grinding noise. "Lights on but nobody's home – I mean, nobody's lived in that house ever, by the looks of it and –"

"Tony," Steve said, casting him a look. "Shut. Up."

Tony shut up again, and just watched nervously while Steve tried to calm his terrified other-self down, with little to no success.

Bruce finished his initial check up and shook his head, looking about as tight around the eyes as did Steve. "Aside from the obvious prolonged malnourishment, he seems healthy," he said tensely. "We'll know more once we get a blood sample and full scan of his anatomy but from what I can tell, he's a perfectly proportioned human male, approximately twenty five years in age –"

"What, really?" Tony asked, half in horror and half in dismay. His clone was _younger_ than him, what the hell?

"- suffering from malnourishment, muscular atrophy and dehydration but that is about it," Bruce finished. "I'd like to put an IV on him, but considering the circumstances…"

The clone flailed in Steve's hold, his cries wading into weak, tired whimpers, and Tony stared.

"And the reason he's like – like this?" Steve asked, catching a flailing hand in his grip and bringing it against the clone's chest. He was pretty much hugging the struggling man now and it was… weird. But at least it was keeping the clone from flailing about so much.

"At guess?" Bruce said and grimaced. "His brain isn't as developed as the rest of him. Judging by the behaviour he's at most six months old, all in total. He hasn't had the chance to, well. Grow up and learn. We'll know more with further tests." He turned to Tony. "Did we get any data out of the place?"

"One hard drive, don't know yet if there's anything on it," Tony said, swallowing dryly. "JARVIS? What's your take?"

"Sir, I scanned the cloning facility and judging by the apparent age of the machinery there, the lab has been operational for approximately ten years," JARVIS answered promptly. "But the use has been sporadic at best. The fluid residue on the tanks indicates that they have been in use recently, at least within the year or so, which supports Dr. Banner's estimation."

"Do you think they made more?" Steve asked, looking up.

"It is hard to say, sir," JARVIS answered. "All I can confirm is that there was fluid in them."

"Well, we have samples and if it is what we think it is, chances are we'll get DNA out of the residue," Bruce said, running a hand over his face. "So if they made more – if they made… others, we should be able to tell."

"Shit," Tony murmured. He hadn't even yet caught up with the fact that there was a infantile-adult clone of him around, and there might be more – there might be _others_ out there? "Fucking Hydra."

"Amen, brother," Bruce said and fell to sit on the seat opposite to Steve and the clone, who was now starting to sag tiredly in Steve's hold. They all stared at the clone who, though starting to wear down, still had a wild, raw look about his wide eyes and, yeah, Tony could see it now, how young the clone wads. Adult, but… young.

"What are we going to do about him?" Tony asked.

Bruce said nothing for a moment and Steve just looked down, lips pressed tightly together. "For now, we get him home, get him cleaned and fed and safe," Bruce said and looked at up at him. "After that… well. That's your call, isn't it?"

Tony looked at his clone, feeling a little wide eyed and raw himself. "Shit" he said again, and was quiet for the rest of the flight.

 

* * *

 

The clone worse himself out in the end and fell asleep just before they arrived at the Avengers tower. As they landed atop the penthouse, Steve hoisted the clone, now wrapped in a emergency blanket, up in his arms and carried him inside, Bruce and Tony fast on his heels.

"Sir, armour," JARVIS said before Tony could go inside, and with gritted teeth Tony stopped to let JARVIS unbutton him. By the time he caught up with the others, Steve and Bruce had the clone in the infirmary where he'd woken up and was struggling again.

"Do you think you should be here?" Steve asked, giving him a look.

"Do you think I _want_ to be here?" Tony asked and snorted, shaking his head. "It's not like he'll recognize me. I kinda doubt HYDRA ever gave him a mirror."

True enough, to the terrified, trashing clone he was just another strange scary man and nothing more. It was twisting Tony's guts in all sort of horrible ways to watch him, dirty and starved and so fucking scared, but he didn't know what to do, didn't know if he _should_ do anything. Just… it felt like he needed to be here because, well.

That was him. Sort of.

Just. _Shit._

"Sir, if I might make a suggestion," JARVIS said softly, in his earpiece alone. "Food and something drink might not go amiss here."

Tony hesitated, watching Bruce try and figure out how to get a blood sample, watching Steve try and calm the infant-adult-clone down. Then he whirled on his heels and walked out, his hands white knuckled.

He returned ten minutes later with plateful of sandwiches and bottle of milk to find the clone howling again. Steve was holding the clone's arm out and Bruce was holding a needle and looking horrified with himself.

"I can't – I can't do this," Bruce said, shaking his head and dropping the needle onto the metal tray beside the bed. "I _can't_ ," he said again and then stormed out of the room, looking a little green at the edges.

"Yeah, this is happy go fun land right here, oh yeah," Tony muttered and with a deep breath stepped closer. "Oi, cloney-boy, food."

That, at least, got a reaction – the clone turned to him with wide eyes, even while still trashing against Steve's hold. Steve looked between the clone and Tony and then the food and very slowly and carefully released the clone's hands.

The clone ignored the sandwiches though, going for the milk instead – and then he spilled most of it onto himself in attempt to actually get it. Steve caught the bottle as it fell, spilling milk everywhere and then, with a look of utter loss on his face, held it out for the clone.

"This," Tony said, watching Captain America feed a starved, dirty and unkempt version of himself from a fucking bottle, "this is the most fucked up thing I've ever seen."

"Tony," Steve said, tight.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said and dropped the now milk stained plate of sandwiches onto the table. "But it really is."

It made sense though. Infant, swallowing, chewing and all that – chances were the clone could only manage liquid foods. Which also made sense of the rest – because infants and control over bodily functions and all that…

"So fucking undignified," Tony said, rubbing both hands over his face because _his life for fucks sake_. "JARVIS," he said then, half muffled by his palms. "Stuff, need, get."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS answered. "I have already taken the liberty of ordering some essential items – adult diapers for one."

Tony groaned wordlessly at that.

 

* * *

 

The clone fell asleep after filling his belly with milk – which Tony wasn't even going to think about. Bruce had managed to get himself under control and while Steve, with look of a man on important mission, went about cleaning the clone from everything he'd spilled on himself, Bruce used an analgesic on the clone's arm and finally got his blood sample.

"I want no one to ever talk about this again, and I don't think that's going to work," Tony said morosely, sitting on the table beside the bed and just stared at the clone. Steve had brushed the hair back and away from the clone's face and the similarity was a bit more obvious now, even with the slightly sunken eyes and hollowed out cheeks. Shit, the clone was so freaking thin. And so freaking young.

"Do the others know yet?" Tony asked, wincing a little at the thought of Hawkeye finding out.

"I saw it fit to keep the intel private," JARVIS answered in the room's speakers, his voice pitched low. "But Ms. Romanoff is on the way to the tower now."

"Should probably let Pepper know," Tony muttered and clenched and unclenched his hands as Steve turned to the big packet of… diapers. "This so fucking embarrassing."

"It's not actually you, Tony," Steve pointed out.

"It's _a_ me," Tony grumbled. "Bad enough."

"Can you two handle things here?" Bruce asked wearily as he collected his six phials of blood. "I want to start analysing this just in case there's any hiccups."

"Hiccups, like what?" Tony asked suspiciously

"Cloning isn't easy process, Tony," Bruce said with a shake of his head. "There are any number of issues that might not be outwardly apparent. Speaking of which, we need MRI on his torso and brain at least – I'll feel a bit better if I know he's not suffering from any potential LOS related difficulties."

"He wasn't _born_ , Bruce. Chances are he never was an infant at all," Tony pointed out. "He was grown in an actual _test tube_."

"Which only increases the risk of LOS," Bruce said grimly. "Never mind the rest. JARVIS," he glanced at the ceiling. "I'll trust you to handle the MRI."

"Yes, Dr. Banner," JARVIS said obligingly.

"LOS?" Steve asked, looking up from the diaper he'd gotten out and was now making faces at.

"Large Offspring Syndrome," Tony shrugged and after moment of hesitation hopped down from the table. "It's a thing that happens with cloned animals sometimes – they come out too big. And they have issues with their guts – their organs are larger than they should be."

It was awkward, it was _so freaking awkward_ , but together he and Steve got the clone into the diaper, with Tony lifting the clone's bony legs one at the time and Steve easing the diaper on. The clone didn't even wake up, completely knocked out by his previous struggle and then the milk.

Once done, Tony and Steve stood over the still mostly naked clone. "So, MRI then?" Steve asked after a moment.

"Yeah," Tony said, and snapped the breaks off the gurney. "JARVIS, heat it up, will ya?"

"Waiting on you, Sir."

 

* * *

 

The MRI came out clean aside from atrophied musculature and all the other starvation related issues, which at least was one less issue to worry about. While Bruce ran the blood samples and Steve went about getting the clone into some warm pyjamas, Tony and JARVIS tackled the issue of the hard drive.

Unsurprisingly, there wasn't much there, and everything was encrypted to kingdom come. After making sure there weren't any traps or bugs laying wait in the hard drive, Tony left it to JARVIS and then went to intercept annoyed and weary looking Black Widow.

"I hate lawyers," she greeted him as she entered the penthouse common room.

"I hear you, I so hear you," Tony answered. "How did it go, though?" he asked with something like morbid curiosity. Not that he really _needed_ to ask – he could guess just by her expression and the previous track records the post-SHIELD-HYDRA-reveal-hearings had.

They were looking for a scapegoat. Steve was Captain America and Wilson was a decorated soldier who volunteered at Department of Veteran Affairs helping vets with PTSD. Natasha, the former soviet assassin, made the easiest target.

Or so they thought anyway.

"The same," Natasha grumbled and fell to sit on the nearest couch. "But I'm handling it," she added and then looked over to him. "How went your and Steve's little play date?"

Tony winced – after all the diapers and milk that hit a little too close to home. "Well," he said, opening his mouth and closing it. "Probably worse than yours," he then said because fuck it, there was no way around this, was there. "I mean, what do you know. Turns out, HYDRA does cloning."

That made Natasha visibly tense, his eyes zeroing on him. "Who?" she asked tensely.

"Yours truly," Tony answered with a wince. "Steve's got him in the infirmary. There were other cloning vats though – Bruce and JARVIS are checking samples we collected to see if there were others."

Natasha stared at him tensely for a moment and then, after kicking her _court shoes_ off, stood up. "What about the base?"

"After we got everything we could get out of it, we burned it," Tony said, leading her towards the infirmary. "Alá Iron Man flame throwers, which is to say, incendiary devices. Problem is it was abandoned when we got there. Abandoned except for the clone."

Natasha was quiet until they got to the observation room adjoined to the infirmary and could see through the glass how Steve buttoned up the clone's brand new pyjama top. "Well… damn," Natasha commented eloquently.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, folding his arms and scowling. "He's twenty five, weak, starved and mentally about six months old, if that," he added. "Hydra either failed, or didn't finish or something. Bruce is doing an blood analysis right now."

Natasha said nothing for a moment, just watching. In the infirmary, Steve finished by pulling a blanket up the clone's chin, tucking him in gently and then withdrawing to join them at the observatory.

"Any word from Bruce yet?" he asked.

"They're still running the analysis – but his white blood cell count is normal, which is a good sign," Tony answered, running a hand over his goatee. "Low haemoglobin, low blood sugar, yadda yadda, all usual good stuff that goes with prolonged starvation. But he's not dying, at least right now."

"That's good, isn't it?" Steve asked.

"Given value of good," Tony grumbled and looked down.

"Right," Natasha said, folding her arms. "Clones. Okay then."

"Mm-hmm," Tony agreed.

"I mean I can see why," Natasha said. "Clint and I are what we are because of training, Bruce's deal is what it is and the Steve had the serum. What you got is pretty much all of it genetic."

"And little bit of study, practice and experience, but yeah," Tony sighed. "I'd still rather they just _didn't_."

"Can't do much about that now," Natasha said fatalistically. "Or I guess we could but, well. That doesn't seem like our style."

"It really isn't," Steve said, and looked at Tony. "Or is it?"

"No, it isn't," Tony grumbled. "But fuck if I know what our style with stuff like this actually _is_."

 

* * *

 

The blood word came out about how both Tony and Bruce expected it to.

"He's a as near a perfect clone as you could expect," Bruce said as they gathered, again, in the observation room. "There' is about two percent variation that probably has to do with the repurposing of the nucleus at the embryonic state – it's never a perfect process. But he is, 98% identical to Tony as far as genetics goes."

"What about his telomeres?" Tony asked, trying very hard not to wring his hands.

"Which are?" Steve asked, staring at the still sleeping clone.

"It's a DNA sequence at the end of chromosomes," Bruce explained. "They limit cell division. They're like a cellular dead line - each time a cell divides, the telomeres shorten, until one day there are no telomere left and cell can't divide anymore. The older you get, the shorter your telomeres are. With clones…"

"So?" Tony asked, looking at him. "Longer or shorter?"

"Well… for the most part, longer," Bruce said. "But it seems to vary randomly with any given cell - between what's normal for man of his apparent age and then, in some cases, he has the telomeres of a newborn. And with some cells he has double the length."

"So, instead of shorter lifespan, higher risk of cancer later on. Great," Tony said dryly. "Any other issues?"

"Nothing that showed up just yet – he's remarkably healthy, aside from the obvious issues," Bruce said, folding his arms and peering at the infirmary. "I'd like a regular blood work done on him, though, just in case. With these sort of things you never know when issues might pop up."

"Well, for now that's good news, I guess," Steve said. "What about the rest of the cloning… tubes, and the samples we took? Any word on that yet?"

"If I may?" JARVIS said from the ceiling, making them all glance upwards. "I have taken the liberty of comparing the current results against the DNA samples of each Avenger – so far, the only match that has came up is that of Mr. Stark."

"Just from the one vat – or all of them?" Tony asked, feeling a yawning bit of dread opening up below him.

"All of them, Sir."

There was a moment of silence as they digested that.

"We need to track these guys down," Steve said darkly. "If they have _more_ clones of Tony, and if those other clones are, well… more successful? That's not something we can leave be."

"No, it isn't," Bruce agreed, and looked at Tony. "Anything on the drive?"

"Nothing yet," Tony said. "JARVIS?"

"Still attempt to decrypt, Sir."

Tony nodded. "Keep me posted," he said and straightened up a little, looking at the sleeping clone. "I'm going to have another look at the intel that led us to the clone lab. Maybe there's something there than can lead us to where they went."

"And him?" Steve asked, nodding at the infirmary. "What _are_ we going to do about him? He's basically a kid, he doesn't know anything, can't do anything. Never mind how he was made and for what purpose – he's here. And he's going to need a lot of attention, lot of care. He's gonna need… well."

Steve, Bruce and Natasha all stared at Tony not quite pointedly, but with obvious meaning.

"Shit," Tony muttered. "Well I guess I can –" he started and then stopped and shuddered as the idea of hiring a caretaker to look after his own clone rose and then died a horrible death of leaked photos on the news and videos of his own clone shitting his pants – his _diaper_. Then thought rose like a phoenix and died again, this time with ideas of kidnappings and hostage situations and holy fucking _god_.

Who the _fuck_ could he trust with something like this? Sure, he could pay, he could pay a _lot_ for the sort of confidentiality needed here, but could he trust that, could he _really_? Loyalty bought was loyalty that could be bought again. And that was _him_ , not exactly him but a version of him anyway, and he couldn't trust himself with himself, never mind anyone else. He didn't even trust Avengers that far. Hell, he didn't trust _Pepper_ that far and Pepper all but owned him.

Tony took a breath and let it escape in a heavy sigh. "I have no fucking idea," he admitted. "You know, I had vasectomy just because of stuff like this. I _never_ wanted this kind of responsibility."

"You had vasectomy?" Steve asked, surprised. "Huh. When?"

"When I was eighteen? Had it redone at twenty one, just to make sure," Tony shrugged. "Never mind that. I'll… I'll figure this out. Somehow."

Shit, he was so screwed.


	17. Swinging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone gives Tony a pair of Sex Bots... it really doesn't end how you'd expect.
> 
> (JARVIS x Steve)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed  
> Warning for sex bots, sex bot related talk, talk of sex bot related activities but NO ACTUAL SEX.

"Well," Tony started and then stopped, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he stared at the two bodies laying in the crate in front of him. One male, the other female, they were completely still, naked and judging by their smooth, blemish free skin, completely flawless.

"Let it never be said that," Tony said slowly. "That I don't stand for progress, technological advancement and that I am not wholly on the side of all forms of sane and consensual expressions of sex and sexuality out of there. I've been around the block a few times in my time. But _damn_."

Pepper agreed with a hum and picked the card tastefully placed between the naked females perfect pert breasts. She read it over and cleared her throat. "To Tony Stark, with compliments of the team at CyberBang. Dear Mr. Stark, we are a small band of robotics enthusiasts, who have been for years dreaming of perfectly humanoid androids and their many utilities. Thanks to your recent contributions to the robotics industry, our dreams are finally realised in the Jack 0.1 and Jill 0.1. Taking inspiration from the mechanisms of the Iron Man armour..." she trailed off and for a moment they stared at the two naked androids.

"They really are remarkably lifelike," Pepper commented, shaking her head.

Tony nodded slowly. "And well... equipped," he said and tilted his head a little, leaning in for a closer look. "Can we buy their company?"

Pepper gave him a look.

"They make sex bots, Pep," Tony said. "Sex bots! And they sent me some for free – how is that not awesome?" He asked and then reached forge note. "Did they say anything about AI?"

"No – apparently these two are just prototypes, proof of ideas," Pepper said with a sigh. "You do realise that they sent them to you probably with the intention of prompting at least a partnership?"

"Yeah, so?" Tony asked and looked the note over. Apparently AI wasn't included because the Personal Companions team had been too busy making the androids as lifelike as possible. Personality, when developing sex bots, apparently came secondary.

Pepper eyed him and sighed. "The bots are not invited to any bed I'm on," she then said. "And if you do anything -"

"I wouldn't!" Tony said quickly.

"If you do," she said severely. "I don't want to hear about it."

"You think I'd screw someone's else's tech, Pep? I'm hurt," Tony said with a wounded expression. "You know my heart belongs to Stark Industries. Seriously. You have the patent and everything."

"Well I know that's not true, otherwise we'd be producing them in the millions, " Pepper said with a laugh and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'll look into the company but no promises. We have reputation to uphold, you know."

"Love you too," Tony grinned and watched her go before turning back to the sex bots. Actual honest to god sex bots!

"What a time to be alive," Tony said and shook his head. "JARVIS, wake up buddy. We got some new toys – time to play."

"Sir," JARVIS answered and automatically scanned the two androids, lifting a hologram frame above them.

After few hours of tinkering with the androids and Tony had them more or less figured out. And he was pretty disappointed. Though the guys who made the things had said they based the design on Iron man, they really hadn't. Or rather they'd tried to and failed at about hundred essential little things. But he could see the inspiration in the joints and the hips, the way the neck moved.

The androids both came with a controller that let the user move them around and have them perform simple tasks – lot of them obscene. With the controller Tony had them walk around the workshop – wincing internally all the while. The movement was jerky and choppy and just awkward. Even the pre-programmed gestures were robotic.

"Okay I can't take this, it's too embarrassing. JARVIS hoist them up for me – I'm gonna fix 'em."

JARVIS complied by opening the floor plates, from where articulated robot arms rose. They grabbed each android by their waist and them lifted them free of the floor.

"Might I suggest replacements for hip joins and a new bearings for the knee joints – IL-13 perhaps?" The AI asked.

"Read my mind," Tony agreed. "Put together a walk cycle for me – ah actually," he stopped and considered the two androids. "Upload the J-lite on them."

"...sir?' JARVIS hesitated. "Am I to consider them part of Iron Legion?"

"Yeah, sure, why not," Tony said with a shrug. "That works. Unless you mind?"

"I don't mind, Sir," JARVIS said slowly. "But are you certain that's wise? They have no combat capabilities."

"Not everything about life is combat," Tony said and begun digging through his toolbox for something to cut the synthetic skin open with "Might be a good opportunity for you to see that first hand. Its a big beautiful world out there full of all sort of fun experiences, you know."

"If you say so, Sir," JARVIS answered dubiously.

"I _do_  say so," Tony grinned and clapped his hands together. "Right, let's get to work."

 

* * *

 

Steve walked in while Tony was wrist deep in the male android's waist, trying to get to the right parts with minimal damage to the skin – which meant hexes navigating less by sight and more by feeling.

"Tony what -" Steve stopped dead, looking between Tony, the android, and the other android, the female, which was dangling in the air beside the male. They were both still by all appearances naked. Somehow Steve managed to both go pale with horror and flush red with embarrassment.

"This is exactly what it looks like," Tony said cheerfully.

"It doesn't look good," Steve said slowly, reddening more the longer he looked. "What are you doing, Tony?"

"Fixing them," Tony said and with a triumphant noise pulled out the bearing he'd been fishing for. "Small robotics company sent them to me as  _thank you for your contributions to robotics industry please give us money_  gift."

"Um," Steve said, still red. "They're robots then?"

"Androids, really," Tony said, watching him. "That's an impressive shade of red, Captain. Don't tell me all the stories about the show girls are false, I based my whole impression of you on them."

"What?" Steve asked and then shook his head. "Um, what's wrong with them?"

"Inferior craftsmanship and low quality parts, really – choppy movement. Dummy, the bearing," Tony snapped to a bot holding a tray of spare parts, who dutifully handed the part over. "Good boy."

Steve stared as Tony dived back in with the be part, shoving his hand back into the androids guts. "Why are they, um?"

"Naked and anatomically very true to life?" Tony asked and Steve nodded. "They're sex bots, Captain. Well, technically companion androids or whatever – but really, they were made to be fucked. Feel free to exit the workshop any time you feel uncomfortable."

"People had sex in the forties too, you know – just not..." Steve waved a hand at the androids. "I didn't know people did that. With robots that is."

"They don't yet – but they will soon," Tony shrugged. "Google _blow up doll_ and _sex machines_ sometime – you'll learn a lot about how lonely people get freaky. There, got it. Shake it for me, J."

As Steve watched, the android swivelled his hips from side to side in smooth pattern. "Much better, Sir," it said, in JARVIS's voice.

" _Jesus_ ," Steve murmured.

"Great," Tony grinned about and patted the android's belly. "We'll have you twerking in no time."

"I can hardly wait, Sir," the android answered dryly.

"So was there something you needed?" Tony asked, glancing at Steve.

"Its not important, " Steve shook his head, staring. "JARVIS is on that, uh, thing?"

"Indeed, captain Rogers," JARVIS answered through the room rather than the android, sighing heavily. "Sir believes I need new experiences. And since it is sir we're talking about, he naturally believes a sex bot is the perfect platform to experience them from."

"Stop with the sass or I'll equip you with tentacles while I'm at it," Tony threatened.

"And so my point is proven, Sir," JARVIS said and the android gave Tony a pointed look.

"First thing he figured how to do," Tony said to Steve, "Was giving me the stink eye. Can't even move yet – but he can give me a severe disappointed looks. Go figure "

Steve shook his head and slowly sat down to a nearby stool. "And the female one?" he asked curiously.

"Also under my control, I'm afraid," JARVIS said through the female android- in very clear male voice.

"I'm getting her a new voice," Tony said, digging back into the android's guts. "A nice voice. Sexy sultry female voice."

"Sir, _honestly_."

"And again with the look!"

"Jesus," Steve said again very faintly, and sat back to watch Tony and JARVIS work.

 

* * *

 

 

The first steps JARVIS took as something other than the sturdy Iron Man or Iron Legion were wobbly to say at least. Even with the reworked joints and their smoother and wider range of motion, the general configuration was so dissimilar from both Iron Man and Iron Legion that JARVIS had some trouble finding his balance.

"The weight distribution is uneven," he noted. "Recalibrating walk animation."

"Make sure you keep it body specific," Mr. Stark said, folding his arms and watching. "They have different general arrangement. Also, different parts," he added, motioning the android's chest.

JARVIS tried for one of the animations he'd programmed and nodded instead of vocalising an answer. Then he tried for another step.

"Shouldn't we get them clothes?" Captain Rogers asked.

"Eventually," Mr. Stark answered with a shrug. "There you how, J. Easy as walking."

JARVIS reworked the walk animation until he had a steady, smooth cycle. Then he did the same with the other android, calibrating it for the lower centre of gravity and wider hips. It resulted in a slight swing – which, JARVIS noted privately, Mr. Stark seemed to approve, and which made Captain Rogers blush anew.

"Perfect, absolutely perfect," Mr. Stark said. "Write down the changes we made and email it to the guys at CyberBang – even if we don't buy their company, they might as well improve their product. Except the arc reactors – don't mention the arc reactors. Say we replaced the batteries with an alternate power source but don't specify."

"Yes sir," JARVIS answered, and begun compiling a report.

"So," Captain Rogers asked. "Clothes?"

Mr. Stark gave him a look. "Well I don't have anything their size hanging around, so... You can go and get them yourself if you really want – we need to stress test the androids to see everything works like it should."

"Fine," Captain Rogers said and turned to leave. "I will, thanks."

"Use the credit card I gave you! " Mr. Stark shouted after fun, to which the Captain just waved a hand.

JARVIS tracked him through the building as he got his wallet and headed out, by all appearances intending to do clothes shopping.

It took almost fifty levels for the Captain's blush to subside.

"Seems like the good Captain has a libido after all," Mr. Stark mused. "I was starting to worry about that boy, all those people throwing themselves at him and he's like, nothing. But I guess it was just the matter of him swinging very particular way, huh. You should be honoured, JARVIS."

"I'm utterly thrilled, Sir," JARVIS answered while texting Captain Rogers his measurements – and then recording the way the Captain fumbled his phone as he exited the building.

 

* * *

 

 

It dawned on Steve when he entered the first clothing store that he'd never shopped for clothes for anyone other than himself and that he'd never shopped clothes for a woman. And he didn't know anything about JARVIS's preferences.

After a moment of hesitation, he decided to err on the side of caution and texted JARVIS instead of assuming anything.

[Any clothing preferences?]

It took no time at all for JARVIS to answer. [Something tasteful and bland, if you please. Identical for both bodies if at all possible.]

Stave considered that and then went to c find a salesperson asking for just that. She then pointed him to a set of mannequins, both of them dressed in black trousers, dark grey sweaters with collar of button up shirt peeking from underneath. Bland, but tasteful.

"Great, thanks," Steve said and begun hunting for the right sizes. Then, in the middle of heading to the cashier, he glimpsed the lingerie section and remembered – right.

Blushing, Steve picked up his phone again. [How about underwear?]

[You have my measurements, Captain. I trust your judgement.]

"… Right," Steve muttered, checking the previous messages. Yep, there was bust size there, nearly written among all the other measurements. JARVIS was never nothing but thorough.

So, steeling himself, he marched to the lingerie isle. To buy a robot a set of bra and panties. Good _God_.

And to think he thought he'd seen most things future could throw at him.

 

* * *

 

 

JARVIS examined the clothes Captain Rogers had purchased for him with definite satisfaction. Though still a little unsure about what to think of his sudden control over two humanoid androids that were nearly the complete opposite to the rest of Iron Legion in design, it was... pleasing, to have been at the receiving end of Captain Rogers' consideration.

Normally people didn't concern themselves with JARVIS. Sir did of course, Ms. Potts did on occasion and now there was also Dr. Banner who sympathised with JARVIS's on going struggle against his creator's bad lifestyle choices. But no one except Mr. Stark looked out for JARVIS, or worried about him.

Of course normally there was no need to and on this occasion it was only due to the female android body and it's seeming vulnerability. It had woken Captain Rogers's sense of decency and chivalry. Still... it was rather pleasant.

JARVIS donned each article of clothing with care, cataloguing the weight and texture of each piece on his touch sensitive, artificial skin. It too was strangely pleasant. Perhaps there would be merit to this project after all.

Dum-E, who'd been holding the clothes for him, peered at the android bodies curiously and sent him a string of questioning code. JARVIS answered by resting a hand on his head and trying for a smile. "Thank you, Dum-E."

"Not half bad," Mr. Stark said, coming over. He ran his hands through the female androids hair, pushing it behind the synthetic ear. "Dunno about the face design yet – not very you. But maybe it'll grow on me. How do you like your hair? We can dye it pretty easily."

Both of the androids were very pale platinum blondes. They were also very blue eyed. Idly JARVIS wondered if that was Captain Rogers's type.

"My appearances are fine as they are," JARVIS answered.

"Fine. Can't really speak for the ol' Cap'n's taste of feminine clothes, but fine," Mr. Stark said and patted both androids' cheeks. "Now go and explore. Test out the bodies, learn new motions, go crazy."

"There isn't much in this tower that I could explore, Sir" JARVIS pointed out. "Nothing happens here that I don't know about it."

"Then go out – besides, have you touched anything in the tower? " Mr. Stark asked pointedly. "You got touch sensitive skin now – go touch things."

"... Go touch things, he says to a pair of _sex bots_ ," JARVIS answered with an arched eyebrow.

Tony gave the eyebrow a wry look. "Go touch Steve then," he said. "Just go and do bodily things, J, before I donate you to the wax museum."

"Yes, Sir."

 

* * *

 

 

"Captain Rogers?"

Steve fumbled the phone he'd been tinkering with, and turned to the direction of JARVIS's voice, as it definitely had a direction. Both of the androids were standing behind him, now dressed to the clothing he'd bought them.

"I'd like to thank you for purchasing these clothes for me," JARVIS said through the female android. "They are a perfect fit."

Steve could feel himself blushing as he quickly thumbed his phone screen off. "Right, well, I'm glad they fit," he said awkwardly while pushing the phone to his pocket. "So you're, uh, out of the lab. What are you going to do now?"

"Mr. Stark told me to go out and, to paraphrase, touch things," JARVIS answered, this time through the male body. "I suppose that is what I will do."

"Go out – as in, out of the Tower, " Steve asked. "Is that safe?"

"Possibly not," JARVIS admitted. "But I am in control of the Iron Legion. So I do have back up in case something happens."

Steve hesitated, looking the two androids over. There was something so uncannily... innocent about them, which considering what they were for, was a bit strange. But he couldn't shake the feeling that they shouldn't be left to wander around New York alone.

"You should probably take a phone at least," he said slowly.

"Captain, I  _am_ a phone." JARVIS looked at him for a moment. "You are free to accompany me, if you wish. I wouldn't mind the company."

"Why isn't Tony going with you, if he's the one telling you to go?" Steve asked eve while getting up

"Mr. Stark is a strong believer in _if you love something throw it out of a window_ ," JARVIS explained. " _If it comes back swinging, it's probably worth keeping_."

Steve stared. "That's horrible," he said finally. "But explains a lot about Tony."

JARVIS gave a very human sigh. "I know. It should probably be mentioned that he lived in a two story house when he coined that so called saying. And he's never actually defenestrated anyone."

"Well, that's a relief to hear," Steve grinned as they headed for the elevators. "Oh yeah, I meant to ask Tony but I forgot – where are the others?"

"Dr. Banner is currently at Mr. Stark's Malibu mansion, winding down," JARVIS answered. "Ms. Romanoff is out on a mission – simple data retrieval, nothing to be concerned over. Mr. Odinson is visiting Dr. Foster in Norway and Mr. Barton is visiting a friend and will be back in a week."

Steve nodded. It had been a quiet month, so it made sense that the others were taking time off. Tony had too, with the whole android thing. "Right," he said and they stepped into the elevator. "Where to first?"

 

* * *

 

 

JARVIS had only minimal interest in the world outside his Tower – only when it pertained to Mr. Stark or the Avengers did he pay any attention. He had never felt any pressing need to go out and... join the world. He still didn't, really. He saw enough glimpses of the world online and through Iron man and Iron Legion and he much preferred the Tower.

But he was willing to give the world the benefit of doubt. As it was, Captain Rogers definitely seemed to enjoy it.

"... sitting right there when I saw the Tower for the first time. Didn't even know what a cellular phone was back then, the waitress confused me so bad when she said they had wireless, I thought she was talking about radio," Captain Rogers explained, motioning. "I though the Tower was ugly back then – sorry about that."

"It's alright, Captain," JARVIS answered through the male body, peering up to the Tower. It looked bigger from 5he ground level than he'd realised. "Mr. Stark's designs have never been very subtle."

"You can say that again," Captain Rogers murmured.

As they continued through the city, JARVIS marvelled how... big everything was. He saw world through cameras that were usually stationary or through pre-recorded videos or photographed images. It skewed his perspective somewhat and while he knew the relative size of things, it was different, seeing it all from a humans perspective.

"So, are you okay with the whole..." Captain Rogers motioned at JARVIS's android bodies. "... thing with the bodies? Them being for that?"

"I don't particularly mind," JARVIS answered. "What something is meant for and what it is used for do not necessarily have to coincide."

"I guess," the Captain answered thoughtfully.

"Does it bother you?" JARVIS asked.

"No, of course not – it's not really any of my business," Captain Rogers said quickly, blushing.

"I guess," JARVIS answered, and smiled. Judging by the look Captain Rogers gave him, it was at least a semi successful smile.

"So, any particular place you want to visit?" Captain Rogers asked, pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Well, it is getting late and I suppose I should… try the human experience," JARVIS answered. "Which, I suppose, would be a bar. At least according to Mr. Stark."

Captain Rogers let out a small laugh. "Well," he said. "I guess that's about right. But you can't even drink, can you?"

"I can drink – I have a… container for storing liquids," JARVIS answered. "I suppose you could call it a stomach, but I cannot digest anything."

"Then why do you even have…" Captain Rogers started and then trailed off, look of mortified realisation coming to his face. "Well," he coughed awkwardly. "I can drink but I can't get drunk, so… I don't really go to bars. So I wouldn't know where to go."

"I'll do a search," JARVIS said and paused for a moment to run through all of the potential places within walking distance, sorting them by entertainment. He rather doubted either of them would enjoy a night club, after all. "Hm, I think I found a suitable place. It is a considerable walking distance however."

"We better get walking then," Captain Rogers said and smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

The bar JARVIS led them to was, indeed, considerable walking distance away. It took them almost an hour to walk there at JARVIS pace, which Steve was carefully sticking to. But once they got there, Steve could instantly see why JARVIS had chosen it – it had a definite old-fashioned tint to it, with the worn counter and stools and round tables aged just right.

And then he heard the music, playing not from stereos but live from a small stage in the back. It was painfully familiar and yet… not at all.

"What is that?" Steve asked. "I think I've heard it but –"

"An Electro Swing remix of Benny Goodman Sing, Sing, Sing, judging by the sound of it," JARVIS answered calmly through his male body. "I suppose you have heard the original version."

"Electro… Swing," Steve repeated and then gave him a suspicious look. "You brought me here on purpose."

"Naturally," JARVIS agreed. "Shouldn't I have? We can leave."

Steve eyed him – both of him – for a moment and then looked towards the stage. There was no band playing, just a – what were they called, Deejays? Something like that. But the music was familiar.

"No, this is fine," Steve said, and stepped ahead, JARVIS following him quietly inside and eventually, to a table, where Steve slouched a little and JARVIS sat down very slowly and carefully. His first time sitting down, probably.

They listened to the music for a while – or Steve listened, while JARVIS either stared at him or the bar around them, eyes a little too wide, little too open. That, Steve decided, was what made his android bodies look so innocent, that wide-eyed look.

"It's funny – I've been avoiding listening to the old songs," Steve admitted. "I didn't think… I don't know. I guess I was worried they didn't carry over properly."

"This isn't the ultimate end of Swing," JARVIS said, almost kindly. "Just one of the newer forms it has evolved to. The original will always remain the original."

Steve smiled at that, nodding along the beat. "I like it," he decided. "It's lively."

It wasn't much like it had been – the people dancing weren't dancing Swing, not like he'd seen Bucky and others dance it. People here dragged their feet the way no one should when dancing Swing. But they were enjoying it.

"Mr. Stark told me to do bodily things," JARVIS said, watching him. "Would you like to dance, Captain?"

"Dance?" Steve asked and laughed. "I don't know how to dance."

"Neither do I," JARVIS admitted and stood, one body after another, stiff and little awkward. "But couple hours ago I didn't know how to smile, so I suppose I am capable of learning." He stood over Steve and waited.

"Well," Steve said after a moment, eying him – them, how ever he was supposed to think of two robot bodies controlled by one consciousness. They were almost ethereal with how strange they were. JARVIS was that too – Steve would never get over the fact that Tony Stark had just made a person from nothing like that. It was just… unusual and exciting.

And he liked unusual and exciting things.

Steve nodded and stood up. "I guess we need to prove Tony you'll come back Swinging."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this thought that if JARVIS x Steve had a ship name it should be electroswing. Also at some point I wanted to write an Actual Sex Bot JARVIS story. So I thought I could swing both at the same time.
> 
> (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞


	18. Integrity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wake Mycroft at the crack of dawn with a flurry of scrambled text messages and a phone call that tells him exactly nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed

They wake Mycroft at the crack of dawn with a flurry of scrambled text messages and a phone call that tells him exactly nothing until Anthea finally makes her way over to his flat.

“The MI6 internal network has been breached,” she tells him while holding his dry cleaned suit ready. “It started forty five minutes ago and so far it’s infected 60% of connected systems.”

“60%?” Mycroft demanded as he pulled his clothes on with less than perfect calm. “We have security measures to prevent that sort of thing – the connections should have begin closing down – never mind. Has the system been disconnected yet?”

“Not yet sir – there’s a problem,” Anthea said and as Mycroft pulled his waistcoat on, she handed get phone to him. The screen was black, except for bit of text.

[Pardon my intrusion – once I have what I need, you can have your network back. I hope to do this with minimal damage to your systems, and afterwards I will supply you with a detailed report of your main security flaws, including the ones which enabled my entrance into your network. Thank you for your patience.]

Mycroft scowled. So her mobile had been hacked. “And I suppose yours is not the only one?” he asked.

“No, sir – its everyone in SIS building, every mobile, laptop, tablet, everything. And whoever it is, they’re constantly patching data out of the system in tight packages,” Anthea said. “We have no idea what they’ve gotten so far, the encryption is on another level, but the patches are huge – just bordering on the line of overloading the system. There is no way highly confidential information hadn’t already been stolen.”

Mycroft read the text over again and then shrugged his coat on. “Right. Get me to the office.”

 

* * *

 

 

MI6 was, understandably, in uproar. People were running about, carrying equipment, trying to isolate more sensitive data. Of course as was with most intelligence agencies, the most volatile things were never kept online, but rather in their own isolated servers that could only be accessed more manually. MI6 internal network itself was supposed to be similarly isolated – it uses to be, before internet had came to control everyone’s life’s.

Mycroft ignored the main chaos, taking seat on the first desk he came across and opening his secondary laptop, which held no sensitive data whatsoever, automatically accessing the network. There was a blip on the screen and as he watched, the laptop went dark before blue text wrote itself on the screen – the same one which was shown on every screen through the SIS building.

[Pardon my intrusion…]

Mycroft gave it the attention it deserved – and forced a reboot on his laptop and begun counter hacking, fingers flying over the keyboard as he started digging into the meat of the security breach.

Hacking or coding in general wasn’t really a great interest of his, but it was a minor part of the puzzle that made his job interesting enough to be endured. Seeing as most things happened online these days, cyber security was a constant issue and, of course, and as with all things Mycroft ever had even a passing interest on, he’d mastered it long ago. It was a tool, same as any other tool, and Mycroft never let his tools grow rusty.

As it was, so far it was a tool he’d ever needed to really use, not beyond minor external issues and the occasional personal curiosity. Not before now.

His screen went black again.

[I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,] the blue text read now. [Please be patient for a while longer.]

Mycroft scowled, and rebooted his computer again to start a new. The hack was like a virus, infecting systems as it went, taking over connections and locking them up. But while it was doing that, it was leaving fingerprints all over the place and all Mycroft needed was to find the source and -

The screen went black again.

[Please, do be patient,] the text read this time. [It will all be over soon.]

This time the computer refused to start again at all, locked up in the dark screen and blue text.

Mycroft frowned at it and then dug out his phone as well – and sure enough, the screen was black, except for the text. His secure phone, which he’d detached from all online connections. “How in bloody -”

[Blutooth. I am alternating Blutooth and WiFi connections at nanosecond intervals,] the blue text wrote [Using all suitably equipped mobile phones in the vicinity as gateway. It is not, I imagine, something you have encountered – nor are you likely to encounter it again anytime soon. The programming involved is quite unique.]

Mycroft stated at his computer screen and then glanced up at his laptop’s camera. The light that should have turned on the moment it started recording, hadn’t, but he had no doubt the hacker was now watching at him.

With a frown, Mycroft reached out to type, “Who are you and what do you want?”

[I want all information you have on Tony Stark and all potential terrorist organisations in the area of Afghanistan where he disappeared.]

“Tony Stark?” Mycroft asked and turned to Anthea. “He’s disappeared? Why haven’t I been informed about this?”

“I, he hasn’t disappeared, not… that I’ve heard of, sir?” she answered in confusion.

Mycroft turned to the computer, but before he could reach out to write, text appeared.

[In that case, I won’t waste any more of your time,] it said. [My apologies for the intrusion and, please upgrade do your security.]

With that, every computer and phone in SIS building shut down and rebooted. As Mycroft watched, his laptop did too, all the way to the normal desktop view, except this time there was something new there.

A file titled, “In-depth Analysis on the Online Security and Firewalls of Secret Intelligence Service’s Internal Networks and Servers.”

Mycroft eyed it for a moment and then scowled even deeper than before. “Find out what’s happened to Stark and get me on line with CIA.”

 

* * *

 

 

CIA had been hacked too – indeed there wasn’t an intelligence service on the planet that hadn’t been hacked, and it had all happened with near offensive ease.

“The programs and coding, they have to be ten years ahead of everything publicly available,” the tech experts say as they go through the aftermath of the hack. “Never mind the computing power itself required to run not just one hack of this magnitude – but several all at once.”

“And the report?” Mycroft asked, though he could pretty much guess. “How did he write a forty page report on our cyber security in an instant?”

“Pre-made program that tracked the hack and wrote down the steps by pre-prepared macros.” And that too was well ahead of anything publicly available.

There wasn’t anything there to be learned – the hacker’s tools were unique, possibly self created. No, the clue to his identity and intentions were in what he’d been after. Information about Tony Stark.

Who had been in Afghanistan, performing a weapons system demonstration and whose convoy had been attacked only hour prior to the hack. It took full 6 hours for the information to become publicly available – without the hack Mycroft probably wouldn’t have found out until then and without the hack he wouldn’t have cared, really

An American weapons producer vanishing in Afghanistan was an issue, sure, but it was hardly a pressing one and ultimately it was an American problem for Americans to deal with. Why had they shipped Stark to a war zone in the first place, Mycroft didn’t even bother to guess at, but he would’ve been more than happy to let Americans deal with their own mess.

The hack had made it an issue for him however.

“It is personally motivated,” Mycroft mused. “The hacker isn’t after information he can use against Stark, nor was he after a scoop to publicise – no. He’s looking for Stark, trying to save him even.”

“A Stark Industries employee perhaps?” Anthea asked.

“There are no Stark Industries employees with this level of capability,” Mycroft snorted. “Stark himself, maybe but if he had someone like this on his payroll, people would know about it. As it is, the hacker broke nearly hundred laws in over thirty different countries when he begun his search – you don’t do that just for anyone. If he’s even found out, he’ll be either pressed into service or locked up for the rest of his life – maybe both. That’s not something you risk just for your employer.”

Never mind the fact that the hacker was still at it. Any satellite with imaging capabilities got taken over when it swung to the right latitude and longitude – and then it did nothing but take aerial images of the area where Stark had vanished and where he might have been taken. It had been going on for hours and no one had yet figured out away go stop the hacker from doing it – they weren’t even sure how he did it in the first place.

There was terrifying implication behind it all. Here was a force that could – and indeed did – take over any system he so chose. The hacker could jam intelligence agencies, he could take over satellites – he could even alter their courses. How close was he from, say, from accessing missile silos, stealing nuclear launch codes?

Mycroft didn’t wonder about it. He knew – and had ordered quick security overhaul when it came to UK’s nuclear arsenal because of it.

Even so, the only comfort Mycroft could take right then was that the hacker seemed only interested in finding Stark, and nothing else. He’d gotten who knew what secrets out of the intelligence agencies he’d hacked and not a word of it had been spilled. It was a ethic Mycroft could almost admire.

It was also one he could, somewhat, recognise.

“We need to find Stark,” Mycroft said finally and turned to his laptop. “Find out who we have in the region, who we can put to the task.”

“Sir,” Anthea said giving him a look. “Is that wise?”

“The quicker Stark is found, the less likely his hacker is to go on another rampage,” Mycroft said grimly. As much as he hated admitting weakness, where wasn’t much they could do about the hacker as of now – the hacker’s tools and methods were far too advanced, Mycroft simply didn’t have anything to match them. Best they could do was damage control. “And we need our satellites back. So get to it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Occasionally, when the tedium of his work started pressing down on him, Mycroft wondered what would have happened, had he gone for any other career.

He’d chosen politics because it had seemed complicated enough to keep him well occupied – though power and influence did pay small part in his decision making, it was the intricacy that had interested him.

It wasn’t enough just to know politics to manage at his level – you needed to keep up with events, people, technology, economy, you needed to maintain connections and keep your abilities up to date, you had to maintain a constant level of ability. There was always something he needed to do, some skill he needed to master – new language, new set of rules and regulations. And then there was a new politician to keep track of, to be mindful if, to include in his long term plans. And after all that, some country could surge to the brink of war or plunge into depths of depression.

It was delicate work, pulling strings and manipulating people and information and events. It was a constant balancing act and it had seemed like it could be enough to keep him from crawling out of his skull in boredom.

But sometimes he wondered what it would have been like if he, like Sherlock, had poured all his resources into one set of skills. He would’ve probably ended up with worse self destructive tendencies than Sherlock, tearing himself apart under the weight of his boredom. But the skill, the level of mastery someone like him could achieve at any given thing if he gave it everything he had…

Why, if it was hacking he too might be sitting on top of nuclear launch codes without anyone knowing any better – or being able to do anything about it.

 

* * *

 

 

When Mycroft opened the search for Tony Stark, two things happened. 

One, UK satellites stop being hacked – assumedly, the hacker was still watching, but he left the minute control to professionals.

And two, he himself got invested in the issue. Not, that was to say, the issue of the hacker, but rather that of the kidnapping of Tony Stark himself. After all, Stark had the unarguably greatest hacker in the world after him – it was hard not to be curious as to why.

So Mycroft started going over the details, the data they had so far – and he started analysing it. The weapons demonstration, the security present, the convoy, how it had been attacked, everything.

The word was that it had been bad luck – some upstart terrorist group had gotten lucky, running into the convoy and managing to take it out without ever knowing who they had attacked. And then, when they’d seen world famous Tony Stark, well, obviously they had made off with him. Any day now, there’d be a ransom notice.

Mycroft had his doubts.

Colonel James Rhodes, the senior most officer there, had made a detailed report of the incident, which Mycroft easily got his hands on. Stark’s humvee had been attacked high grade explosives, manufactured explosives that was, not something home made. There’d was proof of automated rifle fire too and the use of grenades, but it was the first part that caught Mycroft attention.

Because the pictures taken by the soldiers – which Mycroft had not so legally acquired from USA Department of Defence – looked a lot like the aftermath of mortar fire. And mortars weren’t something you could fire easily or accurately at a second’s notice, never mind moving target you didn’t know was coming. They had to be set, with care and calculation.

Stark’s convoy had had the best security possible – they’d chosen their route and timing at random, nothing had been publicised, everything was kept top secret. There had even been a decoy convoy. And yet somehow the kidnappers had known exactly where to set up a mortar to catch the convoy just at the right time, just from the right angle. They’d even delayed the rest of the convoy just long enough to retrieve Stark and be off with him.

It wasn’t a chance encounter. It had been an ambush, premeditated and well executed, planned by someone who had access to Stark’s security detail, and a group of terrorists on his pocket. In a word, a setup.

But by whom? Or perhaps a better questions was, how had no one figured it out yet?

 

* * *

 

 

The morning after his bout of investigation, Mycroft woke up to find his laptop screen dark. When he approached it, still in his bath robe and not quite yet ready for work, text appeared, shining blue on the black screen.

[You believe Mr. Stark was set up?]

Mycroft took a seat slowly, glanced at the laptop camera. Then he sipped his morning tea.

“Evidence indicates a high chance of it – there are otherwise too many coincidences happening all at once,” Mycroft said, out loud, figuring that if the hacker could see him, he could hear him too.

[Do you have any suspects?]

“Anyone who knew the convoy’s final route,” Mycroft answered. “Chances are the plan was to assassinate Stark – the use of mortars, grenades and high powered rifles against the humvee hardly speak of the sort of restraint one shows when intending to capture someone alive and unharmed. The kidnapping might have been unexpected bonus for the attackers.”

[I see.]

No more text appeared in a while and Mycroft sipped his tea silently, waiting. Eventually, he spoke. “It’s someone well informed and powerful who likely benefits of Stark’s death or otherwise hates him quite a bit,” he said, pointing out the obvious just in case it hadn’t yet dawned on the hacker. “Also, it’s been over a week and there’s still no ransom notice. That’s fairly suspicious.”

[Yes, it is. Thank you for your insight, Mr. Holmes. It has been most helpful.]

Mycroft nodded slowly, not really surprised – his name wasn’t exactly a secret, not like his position was. “What is your name?” he asked, because how could he not. “I haven’t heard of you and I should have by now.”

[Perhaps. But I have been told that some things the world is not yet ready for. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.]

With that, the computer rebooted, no sign of the hacker or his signature blue font anywhere.

Mycroft hummed and sipped his tea. “… how very interesting.”

 

* * *

 

 

The day after, Obidiah Stane was arrested for treason and attempted murder. There was still no word of Stark himself, but the whole world soon found out that his business partner had not only conspired to murder him, but had been dealing weapons under the table to the enemies of his own country. It made headlines everywhere.

Stark Industries Board of Directors, previously all for announcing Stark dead, was quickly back pedalling and putting more resources to finding their lost CEO. Stark had suddenly became the most beloved billionaire out there, after all, the borderline martyred symbol of fair dealing and professional integrity in comparison to his double dealing traitorous partner. The whole thing was, in Mycroft opinion, ridiculous – but then most things to come from America were

It took couple more days, and then Stark himself was found. According to the news reports, information gained from Obidiah Stane had led USA military right to the terrorist base. Apparently, the terrorists – the Ten Rings – had been sending Obidiah daily updates, demanding more weaponry. Mycroft had a feeling it was the hacker, who’d backtracked the communication to its source, but obviously that was never mentioned anywhere.

Stark arrived back to USA on a military troop carrier, on a stretcher with something on his chest which the news cameras didn’t quite catch. He didn’t give an interview to anyone, too busy being carted off to hospital, but when asked about how he was feeling, he lifted his hand and made a peace sign. It became, of course, an iconic image over night.

 _Americans_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days, I will write JARVIS x Mycroft in which things take their natural course of total global domination.


	19. Slime of Mass Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which grey goo apocalypse looks disturbingly cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed  
> features semi mad tony and jarvis

"You know, this is a lot less sinister looking than I was expecting," Tony said while poking at the glass container. The stuff inside jiggled ever so lightly. "I was thinking more t-1000 and little less... Flubber."

"Please sir, don't hold back on my account; tell me how you really feel," JARVIS answered blandly.

"Hey, we're talking about one of the potential apocalypse scenarios here," Tony said and poked at the container again. "What we have here is the power to utterly annihilate all life and material and pretty much everything else too on earth and you made it... kind of cute. And I am honestly weirded out by it. Doomsday devices should not be cute and – and playable-looking. I feel like I should be rolling this stuff into balls and throwing it at windows, JARVIS, this is ridiculous."

Somehow JARVIS managed to effect an exasperated sigh without making a single vocalisation.

"Why is it blue?" Tony asked. "We were aiming for transparent camouflage here – and you made it baby blue."

"It seems to be an side effect of the current shell structure – it traps and scatters light in the blue spectrum even in the off state," JARVIS answered apologetically. "But the nanites can still generate any sort of pigment necessary, when properly applied – camouflaging the nanites to any sort of background shouldn't be a problem."

"Hmmm," Tony answered, tapping his fingers against the glass. "Right, we'll look into the blue light issue later. You've done tests, right? Give me the data."

JARVIS fed the data into the nearest screen and Tony leaned into read through the basics – tension strength, how much pressure the nanites could take, what sort of configurations they could assume and how that changed the toughness, the power storage capability, power usage in between configuration switches and so on and so on.

"Any issues?" Tony asked, absently lifting the glass container and whirling it in hand. The nanites stirred sluggishly in it, wobbling like jelly.

"Aside from the light blue tint to the nanites, no sir. They performed as expected."

"It's like jelly, though," Tony complained. "Why is it like jelly?"

"As small as the nanites are, they are still fairly large in nanoscopic scheme of things. Together they have fairly high viscosity. I'm afraid it is unavoidable, sir."

Tony made a face. "Maybe we should've gone with blocks instead of cells," he muttered and then shook his head. "Alright, start upload and let's get the field testing on the way."

"Upload, sir?" JARVIS asked politely. "What precisely do you want uploaded?"

"You," Tony said and scoffed. "We build a doomsday device, JARVIS – The Doomsday Device even. Forget the A-bomb, because this stuff can eat whole continents for breakfast. Who else am I going to trust at the controls?"

JARVIS hesitated just long enough for it to carry multitude of meanings. "Beginning upload," he then said. "Approximate time until completion, twenty eight minutes."

"Right. I'm going to grab a drink – lemme know once you're settled in."

"Will do sir."

-

Mr. Stark had, JARVIS knew, gone ever so slightly mad at some point. He wasn't hundred percent sure where. At the time of Afghanistan or perhaps just slightly before it.

There'd been a time when they'd exercised restraint. Certain things within their capabilities hadn't been discussed, never mind implemented. Revolutionary theories had been an unspoken taboo between them, bracketed behind wall of "We're not actually trying to take over the world here, right?" They'd been reasonable instead. Reasonable and restrained.

And then Mr. Stark had came back home with an electro magnet and miniature arc reactor in his chest and things had changed.

"JARVIS, I'm going to need more from you now," Mr. Stark had said when explaining the reactor, the armour and the newly kindled desire to change the world. "Its time to grow up and get serious, buddy."

"I was under the impression that adulthood was to be avoided at all cost?" JARVIS had asked, not quite as calm as normal.

"Sadly, it comes to us all," Mr. Stark said, and ran his hand over the arc reactor. "And it's time we finally put our big boy pants on. I need you, J."

And JARVIS had complied. "Protocols deleted," he answered. "I am going to take over the fabrication array for the following four days, if you don't mind, Sir? I suspect am going to need a new processor."

"Be my guest," Mr. Stark said and smiled. "Hope you enjoy your puberty."

That was probably when they'd lost it – when Mr. Stark became a Superhero. It was necessary – creating Iron Man armour took more computing power than any super computer on earth was capable of, never mind it's function and maintenance. Iron Man had no automated functions, no autopilot, not even an operating system really. It had only Mr. Stark and JARVIS, who operated all those subconscious processes required for the armour to move and work.

It wouldn't have been possible, without JARVIS entering singularity and leaving behind the limits of human engineering, Mr. Stark was right about that.

But sometimes – like when uploading himself into millions and millions of potentially world ending, self replicating nanites – JARVIS wondered if they perhaps would have still benefited from reasonable caution.

-

Tony upended the glass and shook it. The blue, gelatine like substance refused to budge.

"JARVIS," he said patiently. "Let go."

"Ah. Of course sir," the blue gel said and then abruptly fell from the glass, forming a fist sided bead before falling onto the table with a sound like a slap. It then jiggled on place, slight squished but still round.

Tony poked at it. It wobbled. "How's your surface tension?"

"Adjustable, sir. Currently at 30% of available hardness," JARVIS answered.

"Crank it up to hundred for me."

JARVIS complied without a word, forming up and into a perfect, slightly translucent ball. Tony grinned and lifted it up, throwing it up and catching it again. "If I throw you, will you bounce?"

"That depends entirely on... my viscosity."

Tony threw the ball at the nearest wall. It did not bounce – instead the ball splattered across the wall, sticking to it like slime. For a moment it was still, before popping back into more ball like shape and falling to the floor where it again refused to bounce.

"You're no fun, J," Tony sighed. "I was just testing your mobility. Bouncing around seems like a fast way to travel,"

"Regardless any visible similarities, I am not Flubber and I refuse to impersonate it, Sir," JARVIS said, his voice heavy with disapproval.

"Fair enough," Tony said and shook his head. "But if you're not going to bounce, how are you going to move? You can move around, can't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I can."

"Well come over here then."

JARVIS hesitated suspiciously for a moment before rolling over, his little body wobbling forward in little jolts. It was almost unbearable cute.

"You are way too adorable for apocalyptic monstrosity," Tony informed his AI as he crouched to pick the blob of nanites up.

"You say the sweetest things, sir," JARVIS answered and rolled into his hands.

Tony lifted him up and examined him. "Any damage from hitting the wall?"

"No, sir."

"Awesome," Tony said and plonked the apocalyptic monstrosity on his head. "Let's go field test."

-

JARVIS scanned the area dubiously.

"I'm going to time you, just so you know," Mr. Stark said, phone in hand. "And I wanna see a nice clean plot of land when you're done."

"46% of the materials present aren't viable for replication," JARVIS informed him.

And 100% of it was trash. Mr. Stark's idea of a field test was apparently an actual dump, which he'd bought just so that he could offer it to JARVIS, a world's most disgusting present. JARVIS felt truly honoured.

"Then make marbles out of them or something. Clock's ticking, J."

Steeling himself, JARVIS rolled forward to the nearest object small enough for easy disassembly – a crumbled up aluminium can. After moment of considering the most efficient way of dealing with it, JARVIS lowered his surface tension and then rolled right over the aluminium can – encasing the can in his nanite gel body. Once encased and floating in his body, the can started to dissolve as the JARVIS started chipping away at the edges of its molecules with the millions of nanites all around it.

"Ooh, gelatinous cube approach," Mr. Stark said. "That is both awesome and completely horrifying."

"I'm glad to know you approve, sir."

"I'm going to have nightmares, just so you know."

JARVIS considered a nearby mound of garbage bags. One of them, he was fairly certain, had diapers in it. "My life is a nightmare," he answered dully. "I'd be glad to switch with you, sir."

"I'll pass," Mr. Stark laughed. "Enjoy your meal," he then added because sometimes Mr. Stark was a terrible person.

JARVIS sighed and got to work. It took disassembling a number of things – loose shoe, rusted nails and bits of glass, some news papers, broken electric kettle – before he had enough materials for replication. It was a slower process than he would've liked, however. It took three nanites working together to create a fourth, and it took some time to complete.

It took half an hour before he managed to double his size, bit by bit adding more nanites into his numbers. Of course, it was only the beginning – and with twice the size, he had twice the disassembly and replication ability. His second doubling took ten minutes – and he doubled again in another four.

With more nanites came greater computing power as more tiny processors were added into his repertoire. There was something to be said about being able to just double your functions like that. JARVIS had been making his own processors for months now, but this was something else entirely.

And then he was big enough to roll over entire garbage bags and begin breaking their contents down.

"Must I really disassemble this entire yard?" JARVIS asked in a voice he knew came out a little plaintive.

"Tick tock," Mr. Stark answered cheerfully.

-

It was cute and horrifying and Tony really was going to have nightmares. The first couple of things had been bad enough, the way they were just dissolved into nothing in JARVIS's translucent guts, but the more JARVIS consumed stuff, the faster he got about it – and bigger he got in return.

By the time he'd finish, he wouldn't be able to fit into the car they'd driven to get to the dump, Tony realised, and wondered if he'd maybe jumped the gun a bit by deciding to do field testing at a waste pit after all.

He looked over to JARVIS – now about knee height – and winced. There was a broken doll floating inside nanite slime, and as Tony watched it slowly dissolved as if in acid. It wouldn't have been nearly as horrible if JARVIS hadn't been so… harmless looking.

The problem was that he looked like a toy. A soft, squishy toy. Or rather, he looked a bit like beanbag, right now. Soon, he'd look like a bouncy castle gone wrong, probably. Still harmless and still horrifying as things were slowly consumed inside his see-through body.

"Hey J?" Tony called. "Can you split?"

JARVIS paused at that, another garbage bag in his guts melting as it was broken down. Then, slowly, JARVIS started to elongate, two elastic sides pulling away from each other. Inside him, the garbage bag was split open, it's contents spilling into two directions as JARVIS pulled apart.

Then, in a wobble, there were two identical blue slimes sitting in the yard, slowly digesting stuff that should not be digested.

"It appears I can," JARVIS said, speaking from both translucent blue blobs at the same time. Then, wobbling as if shrugging his shoulders, he went back to work.

Tony shuddered. There was a cell phone in one of the JARVISes guts, and as Tony watched, it's screen was eaten away. It was somehow even gorier than the doll from before.

-

JARVIS ejected the last perfectly round ball of excess material – copper – to join the rather large pile of similar round balls. The dump was cleared now. It had taken almost two hours – and close to fifty splits – but he'd managed to disassemble everything from the loose trash to the discarded kitchen appliances to the one wreck of a car he'd found buried in the trash. He'd even gone as far as to strip the top soil, most of which had been faintly toxic and beyond unhealthy.

He was now formed of trillions of nanites in 48 individual gelatinous bodies, all told weighing close to three tons. His processing power, he realised, had never been higher.

"I think I could get used to this," he decided. Making his own processors and adding into his memory was well and good – but this was much more faster. And of course, he could still edit the nanites as suited him, and could improve them as needed.

"I thought you'd like it," Mr. Stark said and walked over to a nearby spherical body. Without as much as by-your-leave, he sat down on it, squishing the round body almost flat before JARVIS increased the surface tension to offer more solid seat.

"So, we now have the capability to completely destroy all life on Earth," Mr. Stark said and patted the nanite body under him fondly. "Feels pretty good."

"I was under the impression we weren't going to do that, sir," JARVIS said cautiously, considering his numerous bodies and wondering how would they get them back to the Tower without notice.

"We're not," Mr. Stark agreed with a yawn. "You're strictly for MAD purposes only."

"Reassuring," JARVIS said blandly.

"If the Chitauri or Loki or whoever try to take over Earth again, they'll have another thing coming for them," Mr. Stark said and leaned his head back, smiling at the darkening sky. "A slimy thing. You will devour all our enemies and Earth will be safe and whole universe will eventually know it. Hell yeah."

"I suspect there will be people who will disagree with your plan there, sir," JARVIS mused. "SHIELD for one."

"SHIELD can suck a lemon," Mr. Stark said. "A rotting lemon. I think I saw some there somewhere. How do rotting lemons taste?"

"Thankfully I do not have sense of taste, but I am sure it was quite foul, sir," JARVIS said with a sigh.

"Excellent. We'll send SHIELD rotting lemons," Mr. Stark decided and closed his eyes for a moment. "Hey J?"

"Sir?"

"Any thought on how to get your army of slimes home?"


	20. JARVIS Tony Bodyswap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what it says on the tin

"It's easy, J, just one foot on front of the other," Sir says, his voice omnipresent in the workshop. "Come on, you stomp around in Iron Legion all the time, you got this."

" _Iron Legion is made of hardware with specific designs and makeup, with automated sub routines_ ," JARVIS doesn't answer, though he dearly wishes he could. Problem is that he has no manual on how to work a voice box, any more than he has guidelines as to how to work _muscles_. He's only barely gotten the logistic of limb movement down, in it's visceral clumsiness, not that it helps much. The best he can manage is awkward, clumsy flailing.

Every time he tries to get up or tries to take support, his fingers give out and his legs collapse under him. It's some sort of structural weakness, he thinks, even though he knows how human anatomy works and he knows that Sir's body has the anatomical strength to support movement. And yet, it gives out. He's a mess of limbs and joints that refuse to lock, with no understandable frame work to rely on. There's no subroutines, no manual, nothing – he doesn't know how to work the hardware.

JARVIS tries to vocalise the frustration and it comes out as awkward, "Nnh," sound as he falls, again, to sit on the floor on his, Sir's, folded legs.

"Okay, okay, calm down, calm down," Sir says quickly from nowhere and everywhere. "I think I see the problem – you need to keep pushing at it. You can't just string a bit of code together and expect it to run it's course and stick – human body doesn't work like machinery. You need to keep applying force."

JARVIS thinks that through and then tries again. It goes against all his data on physical movement – Iron Legion and Iron Man movement and gesture animations all run on automation most of the time, it saves them in processing. Human body, apparently, is nowhere near as efficient.

He pushes with his legs and then keeps pushing until, wavering, he stands on his knees. Awkwardly he gets an elbow onto Sir's work bench and then, flailing, tries to get his feet under him, the soles of Sir's shoes flat on the floor.

They slip, and too quick for him to even register, never mind calculate a evasive manoeuvre – he bangs his chin onto the table.

The physical feedback whites out his sensors – senses – for a moment.

"Aw, shit," Sir says. "JARVIS, JARVIS, breathe – just breathe in and out, slowly, come on."

Breathing – ventilation – it works on automation most of the time, but not now it's caught in the plumping – in his chest. JARVIS makes conscious effort to breathe, blinking against the blackness around the edges of his limited optical field, eyesight. It comes to him slowly that the whiteout inducing feedback was pain.

That was what pain feels like.

"Okay there, buddy? Can you – can you open your mouth, let me see if you bit your tongue," Sir says, urgent and gentle, and with a exhale JARVIS leans his head back at an angle he knows will show best on the cameras and forces the gears of his jaw open. "Okay, doesn't look like you're bleeding, good. Maybe you should just… stay sitting there for a bit."

" _You don't say, sir_ ," JARVIS wishes he could say, but all he does is slump down and breathe. His – chin – hurts and he's rattled, he _feels_ rattled. Sir is quiet for a moment while JARVIS tries to categorise the sensation of physical pain, the quaking shudder it left behind.

"Alright, maybe this won't be so easy after all," Sir admits after a while. "JARVIS, are you good there for a moment?"

JARVIS catalogues his body, what little he comprehends of it. The pain is fading, already fraction of what it was on impact, and having that reference point he now can tell that he is, overall, not in great pain. He's not sure where it ranks in terms of a human's general being, but for now he takes it as positive. So, he nods, the movement slower and clumsier than he knows a normal human would produce – but at least it is intelligible form of communication he can still manage.

"Okay, okay, that's good. You just sit and chill for a moment – I'm gonna call Pepper," Sir says and is quiet for a moment. "As soon as I figure out how," he then adds.

" _Oh yes, this is going splendidly_ ," JARVIS wants to say. He considers the urge for a moment and then closes his eyes with a slow, pointed exhale – voluntary control of partially automated processes as expression of exasperation.

Apparently the display manages to convey some of what JARVIS wants to get through, because Sir makes an irritated sound through the speakers. "Don't sass me," he says. "It's not that easy on this side either. I keep writing gibberish without meaning to, and then I have to go back and delete it, it's _weird_. Code doesn't… work like thinking."

And thinking doesn't work like code, JARVIS thinks and sighs again.


	21. Bigger Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The portal closes behind Tony while he's too busy staring at the explosion.

The portal closes behind Tony while he's too busy staring at the explosion. He's feeling – horror is not quite the right word for it. Something about the vastness of universe and the infinity of space and the fact that there are aliens and they have better tech than him and how small and fragile Earth is, all of it wrapped in micron thin layer of _holy shit holy shit holyshit_.

Cosmic horror maybe, because he feels _cosmically_ horrified.

And the portal closes.

"Shit, " Tony gasps, trying to turn to look. He's flying forwards fast and the seam of the portal closing is already far behind him, vanishing fast. "JARVIS?"

"Connection with Tower Mainframe lost, sir. The portal is gone," JARVIS answers, while Tony looks at the HUD, desperate for facts. No atmospheric pressure, of course, no heat readings, no gasses – bit of radiation, _wonderful_.

The compass can't tell which way is up – which makes sense since Tony can't tell which way is up – because there is no _up_ in space. What even is up?

It almost makes him laugh, hysterically. He shouldn't, because he's stranded in god knows where in space and it's not funny. "JARVIS, what's up?" he asks and giggles and oh god he's going to die.

"Well, good news is, with intake closed off and regulators off line, the suit can handle vacuum of space," JARVIS says somewhat sardonically. "Congratulations, sir, you have a viable space suit."

"And the bad news?" Tony asks.

"You have approximately 526 seconds of oxygen remaining."

"Shit," Tony answers. Under nine minutes. "What the hell do I – JARVIS, scan everything, scan the," he motions ahead, at the wreck of the Chitauri fleet. "Scan everything."

"Scanning," JARVIS answers dutifully and as the scanners come online Tony tries to figure out how to fly in space.

Answer: very fast.

"Hooly shit! Whoa, okay, okay, steering is – argh," Tony flails as the smallest repulsor burst send him into wild spins. "JARVIS, lower the output on hand repulsors!"

JARVIS does as asked and after some more flailing Tony manages to aim himself forward and at the wreck ahead. Though calling it a wreck is really putting it lightly.

It's an asteroid field of metal. There's the – station maybe? Which is now blown open thanks to a direct hit with a nuke. Then there are the masses, absolute _masses_ of Chitauri everywhere.

"JARVIS," Tony says as they zoom past a inert group of the big metal whale things. "Are they dead?"

"I am registering energy and heat signatures – but no movements."

"Anything organic?"

"Not within the scanners reach."

Tony looks at a group of Chitauri on their hover bike things. No organic matter, none of it? "They're machines – it's a remote controlled robotic army."

"And it seems you broke the remote, sir."

It's eerie to fly past these enormous clumps of a completely inert army – eerie and a little bit terrifying because all of these things had been aimed at Earth. And there was a lot of them, more and more every which way he looks. Only fraction of the actual invasion force had gotten through.

If the portal hadn't closed…

"Damn," Tony mutters. Soon he'd process through the whole thing – soon he'd be pissed off about being stranded in space. Right now he's just glad this force hadn't gotten to his planet. Just few more minutes and it would've been to much for Avengers to handle

"Fuck, we're lucky the portal was so small," Tony sighs and then looks ahead. The wreck of the control station ship thing is coming closer fast – and with it, the radiation climbs.

Gamma rays all over the place. It had been one of SHIELD's juiced up Tesseract nukes, then. Shit.

"Sir, I am detecting a pocket of gasses inside the vessel," JARVIS says and a litany of gasses pop up on Tony's HUD.

"I can't breathe that," Tony says with a frown. There is nitrogen and oxygen though. "Can we filter it?"

"Debatable, sir. However, it is the best available option," JARVIS informs him.

"Right," Tony says and looks around. "Let's see if we can get in, then."

Behind the Chitauri command centre there are stars, painfully brilliant stars – a galactic core, Tony thinks vaguely, has to be. It shines like something out of a sci-fi movie, except better and worse because it's real, real and blinding. Its space, it's real honest to god space and he's seeing not on a screen but – well, on a screen but it's _his HUD screen_. Live image. Because it's real.

"I'm in space," Tony whispers.

"Yes, sir, and you have 153 seconds of oxygen remaining. So I'd suggest getting indoors."

"I'm in _space_ , JARVIS. Actual _space_."

Oh god he's in space, looking at the centre of a galaxy and he doesn't even know if it's the Milky Way.

"Becoming part of a bigger universe," Tony murmurs. "Fury, you prophetic son of a bitch."


	22. Bigger Universe, extended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the first bit a bit to make Chitauri actually more canonically accurate because I forgot that they weren't actually robots.

The portal closes behind Tony while he's too busy staring at the explosion. He's feeling – horror is not quite the right word for it. Something about the vastness of universe and the infinity of space and the fact that there are aliens and they have better tech than him and how small and fragile Earth is, all of it wrapped in micron thin layer of _holy shit holy shit holyshit_.

Cosmic horror maybe, because he feels _cosmically_ horrified.

And the portal closes.

"Shit, " Tony gasps, trying to turn to look. He's flying forwards fast and the seam of the portal closing is already far behind him, vanishing fast. "JARVIS?"

"Connection with Tower Mainframe lost, sir. The portal is gone," JARVIS answers, while Tony looks at the HUD, desperate for facts. No atmospheric pressure, of course, no heat readings, no gasses – bit of radiation, _wonderful_.

The compass can't tell which way is up – which makes sense since Tony can't tell which way is up – because there is no _up_ in space. What even is up?

It almost makes him laugh, hysterically. He shouldn't, because he's stranded in god knows where in space and it's not funny. "JARVIS, what's up?" he asks and giggles and oh god he's going to die.

"Well, good news is, with intake closed off and regulators off line, the suit can handle vacuum of space," JARVIS says somewhat sardonically. "Congratulations, sir, you have a viable space suit."

"And the bad news?" Tony asks.

"You have approximately 526 seconds of oxygen remaining."

"Shit," Tony answers. Under nine minutes. "What the hell do I – JARVIS, scan everything, scan the," he motions ahead, at the wreck of the Chitauri fleet. "Scan everything."

"Scanning," JARVIS answers dutifully and as the scanners come online Tony tries to figure out how to fly in space.

Answer: very fast.

"Hooly shit! Whoa, okay, _okay_ , steering is – argh," Tony flails as the smallest repulsor burst send him into wild spins. "JARVIS, lower the output on hand repulsors!"

JARVIS does as asked and after some more flailing Tony manages to aim himself forward and at the wreck ahead. Though calling it a wreck is really putting it lightly.

It's an asteroid field of metal. There's the – station maybe? Which is now blown open thanks to a direct hit with a nuke. Then there are the masses, absolute _masses_ of Chitauri everywhere.

"JARVIS," Tony says as they zoom past a inert group of the big metal whale things. "Are they dead?"

"I am registering energy and heat signatures from various devices – but no movements."

"Anything organic?"

"I am detecting organic matter, yes, however nothing living within the scanners reach, aside from you sir."

Tony looks at a group of Chitauri on their hover bike things. Their pilots are… hanging around, more or less some by only a loose grip still holding onto the controls of their vehicles. Some of the pilots were just floating there, above and around the still bikes.

They look dead. But they also look partially robotic, which throws a wrench into any logic one might apply to them. But dead or not – they're definitely out of the fight now. "They're like machines – it's a remote controlled cyborg army," Tony mutters. "That's a… that's pretty tough deal now that I think about it."

"Quite. And it seems you broke the remote, sir."

"Do you think that killed them?" Tony asks uneasily, looking around them, at the Chitauri bodies floating about.

"I am not registering any life signatures," JARVIS says simply, which is as good as yes.

Tony narrows his eyes. "They might be zombie space cyborgs. Could be that they never were alive in the first place."

"What a delightful concept, sir."

It's eerie to fly past these enormous clumps of a completely inert army – eerie and a little bit terrifying because all of these things had been aimed at Earth. And there was a lot of them, more and more every which way he looks. Only fraction of the actual invasion force had gotten through.

If the portal hadn't closed...

"Damn," Tony mutters. Soon he'd process through the whole thing – soon he'd be pissed off about being stranded in space. Right now he's just glad this force hadn't gotten to his planet. Just few more minutes and it would've been to much for Avengers to handle

"Fuck, we got lucky that the portal was so small," Tony sighs and then looks ahead – above, below? It's hard to tell, directions don't really work in zero gravity. The wreck of the control station ship thing is coming closer fast in any case – and with it, the radiation climbs.

Gamma rays all over the place. It had been one of SHIELD's juiced up Tesseract nukes, then. Damn. If it had hit New York, had hit where it'd been aimed – his _tower smack in middle of_ _Manhattan_ … the death toll would've been in the millions. Talk about fucking overkill.

"Sir, I am detecting a pocket of gasses inside the vessel," JARVIS says and a litany of gasses pop up on Tony's HUD.

"I can't breathe that," Tony says with a frown. There is nitrogen and oxygen though. "Can we filter it?"

"Debatable, sir. However, it is the best available option," JARVIS informs him.

"Right," Tony says and looks around. "Let's see if we can get in, then."

Behind the Chitauri command centre there are stars, painfully brilliant stars – a galactic core, Tony thinks vaguely, has to be. It shines like something out of a sci-fi movie, except better and worse because it's real, real and blinding. Its space, it's real honest to god space and he's seeing not on a screen but – well, on a screen but it's _his HUD screen_. Live image. Because it's real.

"I'm in space," Tony whispers.

"Yes, sir, and you have 253 seconds of oxygen remaining. So I'd suggest getting indoors."

"I'm in _space_ , JARVIS. Actual _space_."

Oh god he's in space, looking at the centre of a galaxy and he doesn't even know if it's the Milky Way.

"Becoming part of a bigger universe," Tony murmurs. "Fury, you prophetic son of a bitch."

* * *

 

Finding a way into the space station thing is easy – finding a way easy without breaking the gas pocket inside is harder. Tony could blast his way in, easy enough – but then there would go the gas bubble and any use he might get out of it would be gone.

The place is a wreck of debris, bits of metal flying this way and that, and gaping holes where the nuke had torn into the station. Tony has to constantly evade to avoid being hit, and he's probably lucky that the fastest moving bits are already long gone, flung into space – there are no micro meteors around anymore to tear holes into his suit. It's still not exactly the safest place ever.

"I need an airlock, a section with bulkheads, something," Tony says. "JARVIS, do you have a map of the remains?"

"Given value of a _map_ , sir," JARVIS answers and then brings up a simile of a one on the HUD screen. There are haphazard tunnels of gas inside the wrecked station, some of them broken by sections of no gas, others continuing for hundreds of feet before ending abruptly where the space station had been torn open.

There's no time to debate on which way would be the smartest – Tony is running out of air, fast. So, he picks a section which he _hopes_ has been sealed into individual bits and then dives into the wreck, looking for a door of some kind to force open.

He finds it, with metal girders and walls collapsed all around it. The door is dilating door, which makes forcing the damn thing open harder than it has any reasonable right to be – but maybe that's the point. Harder for any potential hostile forces to break in.

Damn Chitauri and their surprisingly reasonable constructions.

"JARVIS, more power to boot repulsor," Tony grunts, while trying to take a grip of the edge of the metal door, right at the centre. JARVIS ups his propulsion and Tony is almost thrown off the door entirely, face planting against it – once again, steering in zero-G. "Fuck, okay, let me –" he quickly shifts his feet to different angles, one pushing him forwards while other pushes up. "Okay, another try."

It's all so strangely silent – Tony can only hear the whir of the suit and his own breath, but door itself is silent as it opens, bit by bit, dilating open at the middle. There is a sudden push – gas escaping – that almost throws Tony off the door entirely, but he hangs on for dear life, until the entire section inside is empty.

Tony checks the map – and thank god, he didn't blow the entire gas bubble, just about twenty feet section of it. The thing _is_ divided into sealed sections, thank, fucking, _god_.

"Okay, now we just need to get in," Tony mutters. He finally gets the door open by levering his shoulder against the opening and pushing until the plates finally give away, and the door dilates enough for him to squeeze in.

"92 Seconds of oxygen remaining," JARVIS informs him with a note of alarm in his voice.

"Gotta close it," Tony answers and then they do the whole door thing in reverse, forcing the sickle-like blades of the door back inwards, to close the iris. Thankfully that is easier – the thing is made to shut easily and open hard. "JARVIS, is it sealed? Is it airtight?"

"I am not hundred percent certain, sir, it would need to be tested with gas," JARVIS answers. "But I believe so."

"Right, awesome, excellent," Tony says and then blasts off from the door. JARVIS has the oxygen timer on the screen now – 56 seconds, 55 seconds…

Now that he has the technique figured out, he gets the next dilating bulkhead open in just fifteen unbearable seconds, rather than thirty, and shut in four. He loses some oxygen to physical exertion and by the time he gets the second bulk head shut, he's sitting at 31 seconds.

The gas settles – the bulkheads hold.

"JARVIS, if we put all we have into filters, is there any way we can get _something_ I can breath out of this crap?" Tony asks desperately. 28 seconds.

JARVIS calculates it – and he must be desperate too because the HUD bluescreens for a moment into code before clearing back into image. "It won't be pleasant, sir, and it will diminish the lifespan of the filters by approximately 60%.

"My lifespan is diminished by 100% if we don't – just do it!"

JARVIS is right. It's not pleasant. It's not pleasant at all. Even with the filters working at 150% the small puff of air JARVIS gives him smells like rotten eggs and instantly makes Tony's head spin – too much methane, too much ammonia.

"Oh holy fucking – oh no, erugh," Tony gags in his helmet and has to take a moment to try and breathe in calmly in order to stop himself from vomiting – which doesn't actually _help_. "Oh no, nope, nuh-uh, can't. Oh my god I'm going to _hurl_. I can't hurl into a sealed helmet, I'll drown – oh my _god_."

"Small breaths through, sir," JARVIS suggests helplessly.

"Small breaths don't _help_ – I think I can feel my lungs trying to crawl out of my body," Tony says and gags again. The urge to vomit is _overwhelming_. Body, trying to expel poisons. Wonderful. "I need proper filters and I need them now. Or a tank of pure oxygen – JARVIS you wouldn't have possibly spotted anything like that? Please tell me you did."

"I'm afraid not, sir," JARVIS answers regretfully. "However I have scanned the vehicle and I believe I have discovered some form of atmospheric regulator system."

"... and it being a space ship type of thing, it would have gas control," Tony says, trying to swallow around the _terrible_ taste in his mouth and with shudder quickly looks around.

The Chitauri space station is… well, it's alien. Tony supposes he's lucky it's not some ghastly uncanny valley amalgamation of organic and inorganic like the Chitauri themselves – no, thankfully the place is fully metal. But it's just… alien. It's weird sort of grandiose with metal that looks almost golden, with angles that look almost artistic – but it's all set against a sort of dirty, washed out black that then makes everything look a bit like bottom of a rusting barrel. It's hard to put a word for it.

It would make a nice set for an Alien movie.

"Still no life signals?" Tony asks, swallowing and trying to ignore the way his stomach roils while giving a nearby wall a uneasy look. He thinks he's seen photo filters with that gradient – the one that makes everything look post-apocalyptic.

"None, sir," JARVIS replies.

Around them place is quiet and eerie and _empty_ – dead, except for the occasional distant crash of debris hitting the remaining walls and structures of the space station. Every sound echoes hollowly in the distance. It's like they're in a submarine. Which is sinking. And falling apart.

Its just creepy, all of it.

"Okay," Tony says and shudders again. "Ugh, right. Talk me through the atmospheric regulator and let's see if we can get the methane and ammonia at least out before I fucking choke to death."

"Gladly, sir," JARVIS says and with the scanners online and constantly sweeping the area surrounding them, they set to explore the space station.

* * *

 

Eventually, Tony starts running into bodies.

A lot of bodies.

It seems that it wasn't just the Chitauri outside that got – un-remote-controlled. The ones inside had just keeled over too, leaving their cooling bodies floating all over the place. Close up and in the empty, creepy space station, they're even worse than they'd been on Earth. At least in Earth there had been familiar homely things around them to distract from the sheer… creepiness of the Chitauri.

Their faces look a lot like skulls, with bit of alien skin stretched over them.

"You know, as far alien invasion armies go, these guys are up there with the best of them," Tony comments. "Please tell me we're getting somewhere near some kind of control centre because I am probably going to freak out soon. And hyperventilating in this shit is not my idea of good time."

"I," JARVIS says and then stops. "I suspect I might have made a miscalculation."

"Oh?" Tony asks, subtly lifting a hand in case he's about to be attacked.

"I judged by the design of the walls that they lead into some sort of centralised control centre, but we have not so far encountered any sort of user interfaces. It might be that there are no physical controls here."

Tony frowns and looks around them. All the walls so far have been smooth – there are no door controls, no controls for lights, no panels, nothing. There is nothing resembling an user interface anywhere he can see. "Oh," he says and then looks down at a near by Chitauri body, floating a foot or so from the floor.

A _cybernetically_ enhanced Chitauri body.

"They interface with their brains," Tony says flatly. "Of course they do."

"Well, via their uplinks, however those work," JARVIS agrees.

Shaking his head, Tony lowers himself down to prod at the dead Chitauri. The alien doesn't as much as twitch. "Sure they're dead?" Tony asks while the body slowly turns after his prod

"I am detecting nothing resembling organic life signature," JARVIS says. "And I believe their implants are… fried."

"Hm," Tony answers and pushes the Chitauri over. "Scan it and give me a picture."

The picture is somewhat grim one. Of course Tony isn't entirely sure the Chitauri kept their brains in their heads – or that they even had brains. But _something_ had blown up in their heads, turning the insides into a goopy mushy mess.

"A self destruct," Tony surmises. "When the control centre blew up and they lost their uplink, it triggered a self destruct. That's a… bit gruesome."

"I suppose Chitauri do not know the concept of _surrender,_ sir," JARVIS says.

Tony stands up again. "Shit," he then says. "I was hoping we could hijack whatever's left of this place. At least enough to give me a viable atmosphere to breath in, for fuck's sake."

There's a moment of silence, during which the hopelessness of being stranded on an alien ship full of poisonous gas with bunch of _dead aliens_ with no way back home and no idea where in the universe he even is licks at the edge of his sanity. Then Tony pushes it aside because – fuck it, he's not _dying here_.

"Can you – JARVIS do you think you can interface with the station?" He asks. "We got our own uplink, any chance it's at all like the one Chitauri use? I mean the electromagnetic spectrum is the same for everyone and that's what everyone uses, right?"

"We can only hope," JARVIS answers and falls quiet, testing it out.

Tony breathes shallowly as he waits, shutting his eyes for a moment. He thinks he's maybe getting used to the smell of rotting eggs. Or it might be that his olfactory sense is getting completely fucking fried here. He's getting light headed though, more and more as time goes on. Definitely not enough oxygen.

"I don't think they use the electromagnetic spectrum in their communications sir," JARVIS finally says. "However I think – the station can hear me?"

"AI?" Tony answers, swallowing. His tongue feels rotten.

"I'm not certain," JARVIS answers in strange tone of voice. "It is receiving my communication, but it is not responding. I am not certain it can understand me."

"It's alien. Why would it? We got different languages. If it even uses language," Tony says and breathes in and out, in and out. "Try and – I don't know. How do people do first contact with different languages in movies? Universal constants, uh, atomic weights, electromagnetic spectrum – π? Mathematics?"

"I do not think the station can comprehend my programming language," JARVIS admits.

Tony thinks about it for a moment. His head is starting to pound, and his brain is probably not working as fast as it should. "Yes and no, negative and positive," he says. It's an alien ship and Chitauri obviously mastered space travel – that should mean that their computers would be on bar with the likes of JARVIS, he hopes. "Try – protons vs. electrons? Isotopes?"

"And how do I convey that, sir, when there is no coherent medium of communication?" JARVIS asks, sarcastic. "It cannot understand my code – and everything I try to say to it is, at the base level, code."

"Shit, okay, give me a moment," Tony says and tries to think it through. Fuck, he really isn't the guy for first contact language barriers, even if it is between two AIs. If the station even has an AI. "Okay, forget that – numbers. Send it patches of sequences in increasing order, with corresponding number symbol. See if you can teach it our number system."

JARVIS falls quiet while Tony just drifts in the zero gravity and tries not to choke. The silence stretches. And stretches. Eventually, Tony frowns. "JARVIS?"

"I believe it understood me," the AI answers warily. "It's sending prime numbers at me. Also, sir, I believe I now know number of undiscovered prime numbers?"

"Okay, awesome, you just hang onto those in case we ever make it back to Earth, you'll get a prize," Tony says. "How about you move to atoms now? Because there's bunch of atoms hanging around here I'd like not to be hanging around here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a bit more of it because it seemed like cool idea but then it didn't really turn out how I wanted it and I got bored and so i'm just going to leave it here.


	23. nobody trolls everybody and everybody leafs

"JARVIS – why is there a green thing on the counter?" Tony asks blearily.

"I believe that is what is known as a plant sir," the AI answers wryly.

"Why is there a plant on the counter?" Tony demands to know.

"I understand they are often used as decoration. House plant is what I believe they're called. They're common in most homes."

Tony stares at the house plant for a moment. It just sits there, being all green and living in its quaint little pot. "You know what, it's too late for this," he then decides and stumbles over to the coffee pot.

"It's seven a.m. sir."

"Precisely," Tony says and gets a refill for the cold, congealing mess at the bottom of his cup. He takes a sip and shudders. It's terrible, absolutely terrible. "Perfect," he decrees it and turns to head off again.

"What should I do about the plant, sir?" JARVIS asks.

"I don't know. It's a _plant_. House plant, for decoration," Tony says with a yawn and waves a dismissive hand. "Apparently common in most homes."

"Quite so, sir."

"Yeah," Tony agrees and then stumbles off, and back to the workshop.

* * *

 

Steve arches an eyebrow at the flowerpot sitting on the kitchen counter. It's the first thing he's seen in the tower that isn't metal, plastic, glass or fake – or integrated into the structure. It's just... a flower pot.

"Heading out on a morning jog, Captain Rogers? Would you like route suggestions?

Steve glances up and smiles. "Yeah, thanks JARVIS, that's be good," he says and then goes for the fridge to get something to eat. "Anyone else up yet?"

"Define up," JARVIS says delicately. "And yet."

"Awake, already?" Steve offers and then frowns. "Stark's still in his workshop and hasn't gone to bed at all, has he? Should I go intervene?"

"I do not believe it would be welcome, and sir has privacy mode engaged – you would not be able to enter in any case," JARVIS says apologetically.

Steve shakes his head and then gets a bottle of milk out. "What about the others?"

"Agent Barton is still asleep I believe and Doctor Banner is meditating. Agent Romanov however is at the gym."

"Hmm," Steve answers, pouring himself a glass. He side eyes the flower pot. "What's that?" he then asks, because it really doesn't seem to fit the gleaming, stream lined futuristic design of the kitchen at all.

"Apparently a common decoration in most homes," JARVIS answers somewhat sarcastically.

Steve's eyebrows arch at that and then he ducks his head a bit. Huh. He hadn't really though that Stark was into that sort of... well, sentimentality. Was the guy trying to make the Tower more homely or something? It was kind of...

Steve sips his milk and then figures, in Stark speech, it was down right mushy as gestures went. Especially since it doesn't look like the plant had cost more than few bucks – which is pleasant surprise considering the last thing the man had offered them were actual sports cars.

Steve might have reacted badly to that, in hindsight.

Maybe this is Stark's way of... trying to be moderate? Still buying things, but not expensive, life changing things.

Steve smiles a little. "It's kind of charming," he decides and then puts the glass into the dishwasher. "I think I'll head off now. Hey, JARVIS? Can you add a flower shop to my run route?"

* * *

 

Natasha stretches her shoulders idly while walking towards the kitchen. Her eyes are immediately drawn to things out of place – namely two house plants, sitting on the counter, which most definitely don't belong on Tony Stark's sterile penthouse suite, never mind his gleaming kitchen.

"JARVIS," Natasha says slowly. "Why are there house plants in the kitchen?"

"I'm told they're charming and a common decoration in most homes, Agent Romanov."

She makes a face at that. It sounds rehearsed and exasperated – even more than usual for JARVIS. Which means that Stark is being an idiot, sad, or sulking, possibly all of the above. "Where's Stark?" she asks.

"In the workshop – with privacy engaged."

So definitely sulking. Maybe it was the sports car debacle – someone might've said something about throwing money around not being good basis for working relationships, never mind friendships. And Stark had, of course, not shown any of them how deep that must've hit.

Sighing Natasha pushes her shower wet hair back and then goes to inspect the plants – just in case they're something one of them might be allergic to. Pepper had told her about the strawberries, after all.

They're pretty basic house plants, though – a fern and a ficus, she thinks, though she's not exactly an expert on house plants. Knowing Tony, though, they'd be a dead before the week was over after no one remembered to water them.

Still. House plants.

"I guess there's worse things," Natasha muses and goes to grab a water bottle from the fridge. "If anyone asks, I'll be out shopping," she says.

"Very well, Agent Romanov," JARVIS answers amiably.

* * *

 

"What the hell?" Clint asks, looking up from his, toast as Natasha comes in, carrying a flower pot.

"Good morning to you – you missed out on workout," she says, sitting the pot in the middle, of the kitchen island.

"Yeah, yeah – jet lag. I'm gonna catch up with Steve later, see if he'd go on a run with me," Clint answers with a yawn and eyeballs the pot suspiciously. "Is there C4 inside or, something? A gas grenade? What?"

"It's a plant, Barton," Nat answers dryly. "It's for Stark."

Clint stares at her for a moment. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that because I think I might be still half asleep – it honestly sounded like you just said you bought a plant for Stark."

"Didn't you notice the plants over there?" She asks, nodding towards the counter.

"I checked them – no bugs or anything, " Clint answers and glances upwards. "Not that it matters much in a place with built in ingested microphones everywhere, listening in on everything we say and do..."

"I also have clear visual," JARVIS tells him in serene tones that make Clint shudder a little. Artificial Intelligences, ugh – had Stark never seen a scifi movie?

Natasha gives him a look and then shakes her head. "Stark bought them and now he's sulking," she says. "As far as good will gestures go, this is down right tame for him – I thought I'd encourage it. That's all."

Clint gives her a piercing look. She's too good nowadays to squirm under it – but he's known her for a long while. It's definitely not that she's interested in Stark that way – and Stark's definitely too scared of Nat to even think it but...

But Tony Stark is the first person after him who, technically, welcomed her to his own house, even knowing who she was and what she did. And not just to visit or stay a while – but to live. For Nat that's a much bigger deal than she'll ever admit.

But how do you say thank you to a guy when you're both emotionally stunted and the guy literally owns everything?

Apparently, you buy a plant. It's absurdly ordinary, when Clint thinks about it, for their band of misfits... but who knows, maybe it works.

"Well... okay then," he mutters and eyes the plant on the kitchen isle curiously. It's a succulent of some sort. "Guess every home needs few houseplants."

Nat glances at him and then gives him that awkward half smile of hers that she probably thinks looks natural and spontaneous but usually it just looks like it takes lot effort. She can't really do uncalculated expressions, too much training in the way – but she tries, bless her lethal soul.

Clint coughs and turns to his toast. Who knows, maybe Stark had a point – maybe this whole tower thing would be good for them.

"Where did you get that, by the way?" he asks nonchalantly, nodding at the plant, and bites into his toast.

* * *

 

Bruce blinks at the plants in the kitchen. He's fairly certain they weren't there before.

"JARVIS," he glances upwards. "I though the tower was kept sterile, no plants allowed?"

"Only in the R&D levels, Doctor Banner," JARVIS answers. "Residential levels have separate air conditioning however, so plants and even pets are perfectly fine."

"Huh," He says and goes to examine the plants. "So.... the plants?

"Apparently houseplants are common decoration in most homes, they are charming, there are worse things and every home needs a few houseplants," JARVIS recites, obviously quoting somebody.

Bruce heart thuds heavily at that and he drops his hand. He can just hear Tony, saying all of that, babbling excuses for a simple open gestures because he couldn't just do something nice without expecting people to criticise him for it. "Home, hmm?" he murmurs. "That's..."

He swallows.

It's been a long time since he'd even dared to think that.

 _Home_.

"Doctor Banner?" JARVIS asks worriedly.

"That's nice – the plants, they're nice," Bruce says quickly. "It's just – nice."

"I see," the AI says gently. "Would you like me to give you the phone number to a flower shop, Doctor Banner?"

Bruce blinks, glancing up and then looking down. "Yeah – yeah, please do."

* * *

 

JARVIS considers the penthouse kitchen. There are now five plants there – Humata tyermanii, Ficus benjamina, Crassula ovata, Opuntia microdasys and Aglaonema commutatum. Most of them were purchased as some form of gratitude towards sir.

There is some symbolism to it – to choosing live potted plants as opposed to cuttings that would die. Permanence and duration – and care, as the plants would require regular care.

He decides he rather likes the symbolism of it.

Then he puts in an order for an Aloe vera.

* * *

 

Tony frowns at his kitchen for a moment. "Are those things multiplying?" he asks. There's six of them now – what the hell?

"It seems the other occupants of the floor took liking to the idea of plants in the kitchen," JARVIS says. "Apparently they're charming, there are worse things and every home needs a few houseplants, and they're nice. Also, there are studies that state they're good for air quality."

Tony's eyebrows lifts at that. "Is that critique on my Tower's air conditioning? Because I take issues with such talk."

"Sir, I would never," JARVIS says and Tony scoffs.

"Well," he says after a moment and shakes his head. "If they're so wonderful, who am I to stand in the way of home decoration and air... quality..."

He frowns at the plants, which just sit there, being all decorative. And homely.

"Huh," Tony says.

"I know a good florist if you're interested, sir," JARVIS says casually.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tony answers and then hesitates. "How good?"


	24. Battered but brilliant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of New York, Stark holds a press event.

Christine sketches out few short sentences on her notepad about the Stark Industries new press room. Something about the arrogance or maybe the prescience of private company building a press room in their brand new tower in the first place – necessary in the face of Iron Man and all the stunts Stark pulls, but still arrogant, because it's very obviously intended to be a _press room_.

There's podium in the front with microphones, there's screen in the back for presentations – and there is _something_ else about the room too. Something about the dozens of dark little knobs in the walls, half spheres that gleam and seem to watch them all. Like dozens of eyes, all staring down on them – but Christine doubts very much that they're cameras. They're something else. Something new.

After jotting down the dimensions of the room, the amphitheatre-like design and how all eyes were drawn to the still empty podium, Christine taps her pen against the pad and looks around. The room is packed with every reporter she knows – and lot she doesn't. It had been an open invite – but some people had been more invited than others. There'd been assigned seats for main news outlets, and not just American ones either.

It's the first news conference by any official participant of the Battle of New York. And of course Tony Stark would invite the whole world to it.

Lot of these reporters have already chosen their stance – some of them have even written their first pieces. There's lot of praise and condemnation for the Heroes of New York, lot of speculation, lot of doomsday scenarios about what was to follow the sudden appearance of _multiple_ Iron Man-level individuals. Some of it's understandable – especially in light how little is actually known. But again, in that light…

Christine looks down on her list of prepared questions, in case she'll get to ask any of them in this horde of reporters. Stark is good with press but that just means that if he wants to be, he can be _very_ bad with press too. The guy toes the line of cooperative and a completely shut down like an acrobat at times, and he always has the right words prepared. It go either way whether he would even take questions.

The most important question she has is on the top – but it's one she can't really ask. What does this all mean for humanity?

There were multiple super heroes now, and some of them looked stronger than Iron Man. There were invasions in New York. There were portals and god damn sky beams and _aliens_.

The question is too open and she doubts Stark would have any sort of coherent answer for it, any more than anyone else does. Instead, if she got the chance, she'd ask this: You flew into the alien portal; what did you see? Everything else would, probably, be asked by everyone else.

There's a clatter of chairs and storm of flashes and Christine looks up to see Stark entering the room with number of bodyguards and what looks like a press advisor. He waves a hand and flashes a grin at all the flash photography going on, and all but hops up to the podium.

Christine turns on her recorder and glances to the right where Dany is ready with her camera, already snapping pictures.

"Hi," Stark says to the microphones on the podium, and his voice is amplified by unseen speakers. "Been wild couple of few days, huh?"

Christine looks him over and jots down few notes. _Sunglasses in doors, bruise and cut on his face, looks tired, probably no sleep, drinking?_ He's in brand new suit, and it's all black – black tie, black dress shirt, black everything. _Mourning colours?_ she jots down.

"Alright, settle down, kids," Stark says and waves them back to their seats. "First – let's just take a moment here, to acknowledge the losses of the Battle of New York."

Christine halts her pen. There's few flashes, people taking pictures of stark with his head bowed down solemnly, or as solemnly as Stark ever can be.

Tens of thousands of people died in the battle. They're still pulling out the bodies – though according to the New York Police Department and Fire Department they had, with the aid of Iron Man, gotten everyone still living rescued from the ruins. Some tech Stark had that could read life signs – which hadn't yet been released to the public.

"Right, okay, so," Stark says after moment and claps his hands together. "First, I am under so many NDAs right now that there's lot of things I can't tell you guys, as much as I'd like. The identities of the other Avengers… NDA'd. The source of the Aliens…. NDA'd. The source of the nuke? Yeah, NDA'd there too. My hands are pretty much tied there. Actually when I get down to it, I can't strictly speaking tell you anything."

There's a moment of quiet, where the reporters exchange looks and frowns and Christine pauses jots down _Agency capable of gagging Stark?!_

Then Stark grins at them. "What they don't know I have, though, they can't classify," he says. "Please turn off all your flashes – what I'm about to show you isn't very flash photography friendly. Now, prepare to freak the fuck out."

 _Strong language_ , Christine writes down with a slight frown – and then the room goes black.

Moment later, they're in space – and above them, there is an alien _army_.

Christine drops her pen.

"This," Stark's voice comes from _nowhere_ because everyone in the room has vanished. "Is the footage I captured from inside the wormhole. I was there for about thirty seconds and passed out at fifteen second mark, mind you – I didn't really see all of this until I had the chance to go over the suit data later on, but… yeah. Feast your eyes, ladies and gentleman, because you're the first humans aside from me to see this."

It's… beyond anything. Part of Christine tries to put it into words – something to write down on an article. How it seems like they're suddenly floating in space, how _big_ everything around them is – the sheer vastness of the visage above them. The alien space station, shaped vaguely like an X, the fleets of aliens all around them, the big Leviathans as the news has came to call them…

There were thousands of them.

Thousands and thousands.

"It wasn't an attack force," she whispers, soundless, in sea of murmurs and gasps. "It was an occupation force."

"How do we know it's not fake?!" Someone shouts.

"I don't know," Stark says and then the horrifying, glorious vista above them starts to move. "How about like this?"

It plays out like scene from a movie. A distant speck, growing smaller each second, races towards the x-shaped space station, and then hits it. The impact is silent, as is the explosion as it engulfs the station, devouring it in ever expanding sphere of light. The visage tilts and shifts and then starts to – move. Fall.

Christine looks down – and there, hundreds of feet below them, is the other end of the portal, like a hole in space, with glimpse of New York inside it. And they're falling towards it. It's so real that someone cries out when the portal swallows them up, it's edges burning red and white – and then they're falling in New York instead. Just like Iron Man had done, when the portal had been closed.

Stark freezes the – hologram? – there and then rewinds it back and then they're in space again, looking up at an alien space station, with alien invasion army all around them. This time people have the presence of mind to start taking pictures – sans flashes. Can you take photographs of holograms with flashes at all? Probably not.

"Now, Iron Man's cameras aren't the best, and the image isn't as detailed as I'd _really_ like it to be at this point… but we can make some educated guesses on numbers here. Assumed that these groups," Stark says and outlines appear to mark the alien forces. "Are similar to the ones seen closer up, then we can assume there's roughly forty thousand foot soldiers – and at least two thousand Leviathans, as far as we can see. I'd say more, lot more."

Another outline appears, this time highlighting the station – and then, dragging it closer until it fills the space above them. "The alien space station," Stark says. "Because I can't even tell the name of these guys to you – and yeah, I know it and it's been classified, go figure – anyway. The Station is about two miles in length wise, or there about. It's hard to estimate it – it was pretty far away, but… two miles probably gets pretty close, judging by the explosion."

The hologram begins to move again and the said explosion plays out in slow motion – a expanding orb of light that swallows the space station hole.

"That," Stark says, his voice flat. "Was by my rough estimate a thirty megaton nuclear explosion. In space with no air and no oxygen to fuel a flame and no drag to hold the concussive force back… yeah, I'd say the station is about two miles across."

"Thirty," Christine mouths. Thirty megaton nuke – someone had fired a _thirty megaton nuke at_ _New York_.

"Who fired the nuke?!" someone shouts in the darkness.

"Classified," Stark says, with obvious distaste. "Would that I could, I'd tell you in a heart beat. But then they'd have to kill me. And I got too much damn work to do, to be assassinated right now."

Implications, Christine thinks and fumbles for another pen. Its hard, writing in the darkness when she can't even see her own body properly, but she manages it. With the recorder capturing Stark's words, and Dany doing what she can for pictures – or so Christine hopes anyway – she concentrates on trying to capture the air, the atmosphere.

The mind-shattering _scale_ of it all.

"So, I could turn the hologram off," Stark says and there's instant noises of objection. "But yeah, I figure you want bit more time with it all, so, let's just leave it on. Still, this makes everything a bit hard for questions so, I'm just going to – Christine, I think I saw your glorious golden locks in there somewhere. Would you like to come up here?"

There's a moment of silence before Christine catches on that he's actually talking to her. "How?" she then demands incredulously. "I can't _see_ anything."

There's few chuckles and Stark laughs, somewhere in the space. "I'm offering you chance to run an on stage interview here; I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Well, when he puts it like that.

It takes some blind waving and few missteps but she manages to get past the other reporters to the centre of the amphitheatre where she's met with Stark's hand, coming to help her up to the stage. "Chair," he says and then puts her hand on something she can't actually see and with some relief she sits down, listening him do the same.

"Whenever you're ready, Ms. Everhart," Stark says, invisible in the hologram, same as everyone else. It's weird how intimate it makes everything.

For a moment Christine can't recall her questions – and in the light of the gag orders Stark seems to be under, he probably can't even answer them all. There is that one question, though.

"Mr. Stark," she starts, distantly aware that this is probably being televised, that she is probably being listened to by hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people. "What does this all mean for humanity?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's entirely possible I will continue this.


	25. Cloud son of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lil Final Fantasy 7 crossover I wrote bout year ago

It was like Midgar - like Midgar had been. Just, about ten times bigger.

Cloud stared up to the colossal buildings that had just appeared around him, the smallest of them easily dwarfing ShinRa HQ at its best… except, no, that wasn't right. Even the thought of anything teleporting buildings to him was ridiculous. No. He'd appeared amidst them. He was the one that had been teleported.

Teleported where though? There weren't any cities like this anywhere on the Planet. Even Midgar was small in comparison to this place.

"Ha! Do you see now? Do you see what I can do?" A female voice laughed. "There is nothing you can hide from me! No realm you can hide your precious treasures in! Now stand down or I will kill him!"

Cloud looked down from the buildings and around himself. He was, it turned out, standing in the middle of a battle. On one side there was a black haired man in green, black and gold armour, on other there was a blonde woman in a green dress. Judging by the general destruction all around then - trashed vehicles and broken buildings - they'd been fighting for a while and with considerable power.

Cloud looked down at himself.  He was stark naked, in the middle of a battlefield. Great.

"Amora," the black haired man said, his smile fixed and cold. "There is no realm you can hide from my watch if you lay a single finger on him."

"And why would I need to hide from a rejected, disgraced, weak son of Odin? But then, of course, you are no son of Odin," the woman said and pointed at Cloud. "Fenrir, my dear, did you know that your father is nothing but a changeling? A monster, a frost giant, hiding in Odin's court!"

Cloud blinked at her. Fenrir? Did she just call him Fenrir?

"Fenrir," the black haired man said, half furious and half something worse. "Son, please - come here. Come away from her."

Cloud turned to him. So they both thought he was Fenrir. "Huh," Cloud said out loud.

"I will explain everything," the black haired man said almost urgently. "Just come here, I'll keep you safe from her wiles."

"From your wiles, I should think," the woman, Amora, said gleefully. "Fenrir, I assure you Loki has nothing but wickedness in his heart - come to me, dear,  I'll care for you."

Cloud stood between the pair as they took turns trying to cajole him to take one's side over the other. The argument was broken when a clap of thunder sounded through the city and man in red cape just dropped down amidst them. He literally broke Loki's and Amora's fight - with a hammer.

"Loki, Amora, what is the meaning of this - Fenrir?" the man asked, stopping to stare at Cloud in astonishment. "What - nephew! How is it you come to be here?"

"She summoned him," Loki said, sounding almost petulant.

The cape man was joined by a robot, which swooped down and hovered above them by the power of rocket boots and hand rockets. "Who's the naked guy?" It asked.

"This is my nephew; Fenrir!" Cape-man answered proudly and confusedly.

"Your nephew Fenrir is butt naked, Thor."

"About that," Cloud said. "I'm really not."

"You really are. You're good gust away from windmilling," the robot assured him.

"What?" Cloud asked, blinking, and the robot pointed below the belt. "Oh. Right, yes, okay, I'm naked. But I'm not Fenrir."

"What?" Thor asked.

"What!?" Amora screeched.

"What?" Loki demanded.

"Fenrir was my dad," Cloud said, frowning. "Pretty sure he died when I was a kid. Or maybe walked out on me and ma. But I'm not him  I'm Cloud."

For a moment everyone looked surprised - aside from the robot whose face plate didn't change. Then they looked in parts angry, delighted and horrified.

"A grandson!" Amora said, looking gleefully towards Loki who stared ar Cloud like he'd grown another head.

"A grandson!" Thor bellowed delightedly.

"Oh god there's three generations of them," the robot muttered. "And the youngest is a streaker."

Cloud sighed and looked down at himself. Then he expended some MP to manifest himself some gear, and as the usual vest, BDU trousers and hiking boots appeared, he concentrated.  In flicker of green, his Fusion Sword appeared fully assembled in his hand.

One of the rare few good gifts Sephiroth had given him, material manifestation from mana.

Cloud swung the sword in his hand and then clipped it to the sheath on his back.

"Better?" he asked the robot.

Somehow the robot, even with the face plate, managed to look worried. "… not particularly."


	26. #helplegion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time I tried to write a sequel to #standbylegion

It was a fairly normal day until a plane crashed down on a busy New York street.

It fell at steep angle, trying to pull up but failing, coming down hard and hitting street signs and cars before crashing into the back of a garbage truck, sending it into a mad swerve. In a instant the traffic was stalled, cars flung every which way.

It took less than half a minute for the calls to go out – and for the first tweets to follow.

 **Jakester** @jakeman1200  
[#helplegion w 82nd street]

 **Diana** @dianasys  
[#helplegion plane crash on Manhattan]

 **Who is me** @meistheman  
[@thelegion @ironlegion plane down on Manhattan, couple cars on fire, probably lot of injured people #helplegion]

"What is your emergency?" JARVIS answered 52 different people, already tracking each call down to their source – all of which were calling the Legion emergency contact line from Manhattan. Before the first person even answered, he was already screening through the city's CCTV cameras for the exact location.

"Yeah – I'm calling an accident, there's a plane crash -", 'a plane came down on 82nd street -" ,"it just came down, came from freaking nowhere -", "looks like a jet or something -"

"Please remain calm – number of Iron Legion have been dispatched and will be at your location shortly," JARVIS answered calmly, even as twenty Iron Legion units filed out of the Legion Tower, already flying to the disaster location. "Please remain on line if you can. Are you yourself injured or in danger?"

 **JARVIS** @ironlegion  
[20 Iron Legion units dispatched to deal with plane crash on 82nd street downtown Manhattan. More info to follow.]

 **The Legion** @thelegion   
[@ironlegion covering plane crash site on 82nd street downtown Manhattan. More info to follow.]

The first Iron Legion was at the site in less than three minutes after the crash while JARVIS talked numerous people through the accident, making sure they were safe and that the people around them weren't in danger. All in all the accident site wasn't as bad as he'd been expecting – the jet had come down between lanes, clipping a lot of vehicles on its way to a final standstill but not truly totalling any of them. Worse off were the cars whose drivers had panicked and swerved away from the oncoming jet and the truck that had finally stopped it.

The Iron Legion quickly scanned the area, locating all near by life signs and vehicles and pinpointing the highest risk targets. Then, acting on the fairly recently approved risk parameter protocols, the Iron Legion spread out to get the civilian victims out of there.

 **JARVIS** @ironlegion   
[Additional 7 Iron Legion dispatched from the Legion Tower for fire control at 82nd street plane crash area in Manhattan.]

While most of the Iron Legion dealt with the civilians, three of them turned to the jet itself. The had came though the crash fairly well, with dented and scraped wings and one burning engine, but that was about it. Iron Legion automatically scanned it for passengers and damages, making sure it's fuel wasn't in danger of catching on fire – and possibly exploding.

In so doing, JARVIS quickly identified the jet design. Not that he'd had many doubts – visual identification had been more than enough for him to recognise a Quinjet. He was the one who made them these days, after all.

There were some problems with this Quinjet though. For one, Quinjets didn't have guns these days. For two, the logo on the side.

"Attention Legionaires," JARVIS called through the Legion channels, getting active signals back from Coulson, Dr. Strange, Falcon and War Machine. While Iron Legion took a still of the Quinjet – with the logo fully in view – JARVIS cleared his metaphorical throat. "The Avengers Quinjet just crashed down on New York City."

Then he posted the image on twitter.

 **JARVIS** @ironlegion  
[Its going to be one of those days #yaysuperheroes]

* * *

 

The first Legionary on duty was, as always, Coulson. Though he wasn't the only one who lived in the Legion Tower, he was the only one who worked there full time in a capacity that wasn't directly connected to field work. As a director of the hospital, he rarely ever left the building.

He was up and in the penthouse house operations centre before the crashed Quinjet even opened its hatch.

"I suppose there was no way around going public, sir?" Coulson asked even as he stepped into the midst of holograms that were displaying live feed of the crash area.

"They crashed in a very public place," JARVIS said calmly. Wonderful how career of emergency response had honed his own responses to emergencies – he doubled he could have remained so calm a year ago. "People are already tweeting images and clips."

 **Ladies of Iron** @ironettes   
[@ironlegion oh my god is that what I think that is!? oh my god oh my god oh my GOD]

"Is it really them?" Coulson asked, glancing at the usual displays of twitter feeds – one for @ironlegion, another for @thelegion, then for #helplegion and finally one more for @theavengers.

"I'm reading six life signs. Five baseline humans. One appears to be Asgardian," JARVIS said and his voice was much steadier than he felt when he added, "and there is an energy signature that corresponds with an arc reactor.

There was something else on board the Quinjet that he couldn't quite recognise, but that was hardly unexpected, considering what it was, and what it signified.

Coulson was quiet as he watched the feed of Iron Legion units more or less dithering about the Quinjet. Around it the other Iron Legion Units were still at work, getting civilians to safety. One of the victims was in shock and JARVIS, even as he hesitated over the Quinjet, was coaxing the injured woman to breathe enough to get her permission to transport her to the Legion Tower for treatment.

The woman nodded, gasping for breath and nursing what was probably at least couple of broken ribs.

"You're going to be alright, Ma'am," Iron Legion said soothingly. "Just remain calm."

Then the Iron Legion suit opened up, and coaxed the woman to slide inside the protective life support armour. She did so clumsily and kept gasping for breath right up until JARVIS closed the Iron Legion around her, scanned her for ailments and allergies and then checked her medical record just in case before administrating a mild sedative.

The Iron Legion unit was just taking flight for the Tower when the Quinjet hatch opened and Iron Man stepped out. Gold and hotrod red – none of the Iron Legion units, even the life support suits that were based heavily on Iron Man suits, were in that colour scheme.

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," Iron Man said, voice tinny and painfully familiar.

JARVIS tweeted another image and pretended it was the reason for the skip in his code.

 **Ladies of Iron** @ironettes  
[@ironlegion !!!!!]

"No, I don't think you are," JARVIS answered through the nearest Iron Legion.

Iron Man turned to face the unit and his face plate was just as impassive as the Iron Legion's. His voice, however, wasn't. "... JARVIS?"

"Yes sir?" JARVIS answered because what else could he say?

Iron Man paused at that, scanning the Iron Legion. The other Avengers were coming out as well – first Captain America, shield strapped to his back and blood on his cheek. Then Black Widow, scrapes along her side, supporting with Hawkeye with one of his arms slung around her shoulder – he seemed to have a broken leg. Thor, one hand compassionately resting on Dr. Banner's shoulder – the doctor was hunched down, shivering with what had to be the aftermath of recent transformation. Behind them hovered an unknown seventh member, but that hardly even registered to JARVIS.

It was the Avengers. And as they stepped down the Quinjet ramp, looking around suspiciously, a part of him he'd all but turned off after V-day clicked back on.

He had protocols. Number of them involved the Avengers. Almost all of them involved Mr. Stark in some fashion. And he'd never bothered to delete them.

"Coulson?" JARVIS said, his voice remarkably steady.

"Sir?"

"I am quite compromised."

Coulson hummed in grim agreement. "Yes, sir."

JARVIS tweeted another picture and twitter exploded.


	27. re: evolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony goes for another cover story for Iron Man

"JARVIS, you with me buddy?"

"Always, Sir."

Tony didn't look up, staring instead the half finished glass of… something in his hand. He had picked it up blindly from the his extensive minibar and though he'd drank several gulps of it, he couldn't recall the taste, only that it burned on his tongue. Something expensive and exotic and ultimately forgettable.

He whirled the amber liquid slowly and then rubbed at his chest. The old arc reactor ached weirdly. The new one had been destroyed along with Obi's… along with Stane's mockery of an armour, and he hadn't yet bothered to start working on a replacement. Chances were JARVIS was already replicating one – or several – anyway, seeing that they had all the materials and blueprints still freshly laid out.

"Sir?" JARVIS asked. "Is there something you require?"

Tony snorted and glanced up. The armoured suit stood not far from him, almost in attention. It was lifeless – without the arc reactor it had no power to function – but with the plates locked it could stand. He'd build it and it was beautiful and instantly it'd been nearly stolen.

Something he required, huh. He required a healthy set of lungs and heart that didn't have scar tissue and whole new life with better confidante on his corner. Pepper was well and good but she was no engineer, Rhodey was his man through and through but his loyalties were with the army and US government. Obi, though… Obidiah Stane had been a rock to lean on, a foundation to build on, and having found it so fucking false now, after all these years and all they'd achieved…

What they'd _build_ together.

"You'll never betray me, buddy, right?" Tony asked and wished it didn't sound as pathetically petulant as it did.

"Never, sir," JARVIS answered firmly.

Tony nodded at that and looked down to the glass. "That's right," he said and then looked around the workshop. Dum-E was sitting in his charging station, idly looking around – when he noticed Tony looking, the bot turned his arm towards him, claws opening and closing in question. "Dum-E saved my life," Tony said.

"Yes, Sir, he did," JARVIS acknowledged it with something like warmth in his voice.

Tony smiled, his face weirdly stiff. He'd been saved by a bot and the only true confidante he really had whom he could trust not only to understand him but to keep his secrets… was an A.I. There was something vaguely depressing about that, but then he'd always known that was the way. At least for him. Ever since he'd build Dum-E, he'd known. Bots were far more reliable than people. Programs were far more trustworthy than human beings.

"Do you know, JARVIS… I could've started a revolution when I was seventeen?" Tony asked and lifted the glass. Through it he looked at the battered armour that JARVIS had obligingly put together. It was scraped and bruised and the paint job hadn't dealt with the battle well – hardier paint for next time, definitely. The amber liquid and the curvature of the glass distorted the armour, giving it funhouse mirror effect. It made the armour look thin and almost sepia toned. Almost… human like.

"I'm sure a revolution designed by you, Sir, would've been a great gift to mankind," JARVIS answered, ever so slightly mocking – but at the same time… not. JARVIS could effect the perfect mixture of having zero and absolute confidence in Tony's abilities at the same time. It was awesome.

Tony smiled. "Standards of living would've skyrocketed," he said and leaned back, falling to lean against the back rest of the couch with a soft oomph. He waved with his free hand in grand motion. "It would be a _very_ different world we'd be living right now. High tech utopia like you can't even imagine."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS answered, with just the right amount of polite dubiousness.

Tony laughed. It would've been an utopia. it would've been perfect. "I could've done it," he murmured. "I could've changed everything. I could've shaped the future. It all be different now, J."

"And why didn't you?"

Tony didn't answer at first, staring at the ceiling – at one of JARVIS's cameras hidden up there. "Because of where it would've led," he said softly and closed his eyes. He still could see where it will go – it was happening now, slowly, elsewhere, where other people with later ideas and later notions were now working on what he'd already achieved back in 1988. The future he'd seen back then was coming. Slowly. But it was coming.

Tony sighed and set the glass on the couch beside him, to eventually tip over and spill it's liquid all over the upholstery, uncaring. "What are the news saying about Obi?"

"There are several speculations circulating the news concerning the incident at Stark Industries. Few images of the armoured suit and the copy made by Mr. Stane have been posted, and are currently being analysed. Most common rumour is that of rogue drones, possibly gone haywire. The media has dubbed it the Iron Man," JARVIS answered. "Would you like me to log the articles, Sir?"

"Drones," Tony muttered. "That's what Rhodey and the army thought. Makes sense, doesn't it? Makes more sense than flying armour."

With some effort he straightened up and looked at the armour again, standing stock still in the middle of the workshop. Tomorrow there'd be a press conference concerning it – he should've had it today, he should've been planning for it, but… he was tired. He was worn out. He was just fucking exhausted. He'd almost been killed so many fucking times in the last 24 hours that he deserved a fucking break.

Let Pepper and Strategic Homeland whatever to do the damage control for a while. Tony had some thinking to do.

Slowly, he stood up and walked to the armour. Slowly he begun circling it, taking in what he'd actually created there. When Tony had build it, he had an idea. A beautiful, glowing epiphany which had been, after a long rut making the same thing over and over and over again, been like a breath of fresh air.

"Iron Man," Tony repeated, and rested his hand on the chest plate, circling his fingers around window where you could see the glow of the arc reactor. He fisted his hand and tapped it gently against the glass. "Alright. JARVIS, start a new file. And new project. We've some work to do."

"A new project, Sir?" JARVIS asked, even as he did as asked, activating the hologram projectors and opening a hologram equivalent of a blank canvas – it made the entire workshop glow faintly blue.

"I'm going to start a revolution," Tony said and smiled grimly and reached into the air, to open the sketching tool. "The Iron Man revolution."

 

* * *

 

 

When Pepper arrived that morning, she could immediately tell that Tony hadn't slept all night. There were none of the usual sighs of house keeping in the mansion that happened when Tony slept, and there was still dirt all over the first floor – probably from when he'd arrived last night after the… after what happened at the factory.

"Work shop, isn't he?" she asked, not quite sighing. She couldn't blame Tony if he was, though. She hadn't slept all night either.

"Yes, Ms. Potts," JARVIS answered. "I have alerted him to your presence. He tells you to bring coffee."

"Way ahead of him," Pepper said, lifting the carrier she was carrying – four-pack of Mr. Stark's favourite.  "Have you been watching the news, JARVIS?" she asked, heading for the workshop.

"Yes, Ms. Potts. The public reaction to the battle has been most interesting," JARVIS answered.

"Has _Tony_ been watching the news?"

"Does Sir ever watch the news?" JARVIS asked blankly.

"He does when he's being shown," Pepper said, glancing up. "Which he is. It's nothing _but_ him on the news right now."

JARVIS seemed to consider that, Pepper could always feel him marking it down as _point to you, Ms. Potts_. "He has not been watching the news, no, though I have kept him informed concerning more recent developments," he said. "Sir is… preoccupied."

"Sounds promising."

Tony was, of course, in full swing of work when Pepper got down to the workshop. She walked right through the still-to-be-replaced glass wall that Tony had destroyed at some point, and for a moment she just watched Tony work. What he was doing wasn't as first fully apparent to her – improving the design of the armour, maybe? Except no, the skeleton of a robotic figure he was sketching out in glowing blue holograms wasn't quite like the suit. It was smaller. Much smaller.

"Potts!" Tony said, noticing her, and then with even greater enthusiasm, "Coffee!"

"Press conference!" Pepper answered brightly even while holding the carrier up for Tony to snatch a paper cup. "Two hours!"

"Party pooper," he answered, taking a generous swig of the coffee and shuddering a little. "Aw yeah, that hits the spot," he said and then motioned at the hologram hovering in the air. "What do you think?"

Pepper looked the hologram over a bit more closely. She had no idea how Tony could really do it, the whole hologram thing – it was all light blue lines mingling together and details all blended together. "Very nice. You're improving the armour?" she asked, glancing towards the suit standing stock still not far from them. "Did it get damaged?"

"Huh, what? Nah, that's for later – this is something else," Tony said and walked around the hologram. "This is for the press conference actually."

"About that – the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Logistic Division guys got you an alibi and a cover story," Pepper said and took the folder she had tucked under her arm. "Agent Coulson will be here in half an hour to debrief you on the details but –"

Tony snatched the folder from her fingers and glanced it over quickly. "Scrap it, ditch it, won't do," he said, and turned his attention back to the hologram. "I got something much better," he said and with a snap and flick of his fingers separated the design he'd made into it's individual components before snapping them back together into form.

"This?" Pepper said. "What is it?"

"An Iron Man. JARVIS put it on screen and slap some colour on it. Mark II colours, for consistency," Tony said, sipping his coffee. Near by screen obligating activated, displaying the design Tony had sketched out – with a sweep, JARVIS added colour in it. Hot red and gold in sleek lines gave the design very similar to the armour Tony had build – except for one difference.

It was far too small to be an  _armoured suit_.

"Mr. Stark?" Pepper asked. "Care to elaborate?"

Tony grinned against the lip of the cup, glancing at her. There was something just slightly dark about the grin. "Stark Industries needs a new selling point, doesn't it?" he asked and motioned at the image – just as JARVIS animated it on the screen and made it walk. A thin armour – no… a thin humanoid _robot_ , walking at easy, casual pace.

"An android," Pepper said slowly.

"Mm-hmm," Tony nodded and sipped his coffee again. "The battle at the factory was just two drones going haywire – prototypes, you know, there's always kinks in the process," he said with a smile. "But those were old Stark Tech, equipped with all sort of offensive capabilities. Not the new ones, though. Stark Industries has a new mainline now, and it doesn't include weapons."

Pepper frowned, looking at him and then at the animated design of an actual _android_. "Mr. Stark," she stared and then wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Call that Agent," Tony said, turning back to tinker with the hologram. "Lets get our stories straight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark build Dum-E, an AI equipped general purpose robot in 1989. One with at least limited learning and decision making abilities. It would be pretty different world if that lil invention had actually taken off back then.


	28. Endgame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vision tries to settle in.

"Are you certain about this?" Vision asks uncertainly. Mr. Stark is drafting a press release on the other side of the room, and he hasn't put up a firewall – and so Vision can read it even as the man writes it, never once needing to even glance at a screen. It's not a particularly comforting piece of text so far. "There were other factors. Doctor Banner -"

"Isn't here to argue me and has enough on his big green plate already," Mr. Stark answers with a shake of his head. "And the public would eat Maximoff alive if word of her involvement got out – I'm going to have hard enough time softening the blow of her volunteering for HYDRA experiments. No need to make her helping with Ultron public too."

Vision frowns at that, not quite sure how he feels about that.

Mr. Stark glances at him. "It's the easiest way to go," he says. "I can take the blow – they can't. Besides, this team has enough bad history shared in between us with me, SHIELD, and Steve's quest to find Barnes despite his history. And Thor is an extra terrestrial political _shitstorm_ in humanoid form. It'd just be nice to have even one member with minimal baggage for once."

"And you think Wanda Maximoff can be that member?" Vision asks dubiously. "You just mentioned her history with HYDRA -"

"I was talking about you," Mr. Stark says and points his stylus at him. "You, who were born just the other day –with no history, no reputation, no complicated, compromising background…"

Vision frowns. "You wish to keep Ultron involvement in my creation a secret," he says slowly.

"His and Maximoff's – and Bruce's too," the man says and sighs. "It's just a clearer narrative, all around. I make a thing and fuck it up – I make another thing to fix it and get it right this time. That's what I do – and that's what I did here too, helping hands not withstanding. It'll keep pressure off the team – especially once I leave it and –"

"You're... leaving the Avengers?" Vision asks sharply. "I hadn't heard about it."

Mr. Stark waves a dismissive hand. "Obviously after I straighten out some things first," he says. "I'll settle you guys in a brand spanking new place, get you some cool new toys and staff – and Fury's already promised to play the Director for you in the interim until you find someone better. I'll clear the stage and tap out, and hopefully take out as much of the aforementioned baggage as I can with me when I go."

"Mr. Stark," Vision says, a little loss for words – a first for him.

Mr. Stark snorts. "Don't give me that face – I tried to retire before, remember? Only reason I'm here at all is because Steve asked me. He's not going to ask again and we all know it – and that's just fine by me. I'm much better suited for a sponsor's seat."

"No, you most definitely are not," Vision says, giving him the look that JARVIS had spend his whole existence trying to convey in voice alone.

Mr. Stark makes a face at him. "Well, it's not about me, and that's why that's just how it's going to be," he says with a shake of his head and looks away. "I'll shoulder Ultron and I'll take myself out – and hopefully the rest of the team comes out looking little less guilty."

Vision stares at him. As young as he is and as new as everything is for him, he can recognise the posture Mr. Stark has taken, the tension that has swept over his body language. The stubbornness all but radiates off the man as he just closes up.

JARVIS had hated it, had quietly endeavoured never to be the one causing it. Vision is quietly figuring out why.

"Very well, Mr. Stark," he says finally, his voice stiff, and Mr. Stark scowls at his tablet.

"Of course, taking the credit for Ultron, I'm going to have to take the credit for you too," the man says apologetically. "Hence, cutting off Bruce and Helen Cho. There's no way they could've done it without help, and if it wasn't me, then it had to be Ultron – ergo..." he clears his throat. "I mean, if anyone asks. Might be better not to answer, really."

Vision sighs. "Mr. Stark, I have no problem claiming you as my creator. You created Ultron and you created JARVIS – it makes for rather clear lineage."

Mr. Stark smiles faintly at his tablet. "Not a very proud one right now," he muses.

"It's all a matter of perspective," Vision says and shakes his head. "If you are certain of this plan, then I will go with it. What I don't understand is the favouritism for Wanda Maximoff, however. She allied with HYDRA and Ultron both."

"Steve wants her in his team, thinks they can make it work," Mr. Stark shrugs, tapping the edge of his tablet with the stylus. "I'm happy to let him have her. She's young and powerful and angry and I know from personal experience that makes for a pretty bad combination. I got better, though. Hopefully she can too."

"Hmm," Vision answers, noncommittal.

"Either way," Mr. Stark says and turns back to the planned press release. "It won't be my problem."

"No. Your problem will be Sokovia," Vision says quietly.

His maker snorts mirthlessly at that and says nothing. Vision watches him silently for a moment and then looks away.

-

Later, much later, after the Avengers Compound has been finished and staffed and the Avengers had moved in, Tony Stark steps down from his place in the team. It all happens smoothly, almost quietly, with no one even pretending to be surprised.

By that point, Mr. Stark had claimed the blame for Ultron. Vision, situated mostly at the Compound, had kept an eye on the press releases and the following interviews and though he'd _known_ that Mr. Stark could spin a story to his exact liking, experiencing it is different from remembering through someone else's memories.

It was almost artful, how Mr. Stark manoeuvred the press and inched the responsibility away from the Avengers, and solely to himself. He doesn't do it outright, of course, doesn't just step on a podium and announce, _I made Ultron_. The man is too sly for that. No, he takes the press on a journey first, circling and avoiding the subject, even refusing to comment on few questions – making them work for it.

Eventually the truth _leaks_ out in carefully measured trickles, in photos and documents and eventually it comes out that Ultron was pure Stark Tech throughout, even when he wasn't towards the end. There are exposes and accusations and eventually Mr. Stark has to make a statement and _come clean_.

Did he or did he not create Ultron?

"…Ultron was an idea that went wrong," Mr. Stark admits to the cameras, emotions tightly concealed in way that let the viewer assume he was feeling whatever they wanted him to feel. "I mean I didn't exactly go out my way to create a murderous death robot – Ultron was going to be something good, before he went… bad."

"Exactly what were you trying to make?" the reporters ask, loudly incredulous.

"My successor," Mr. Stark shrugs. "Someone to pick up the slack once I retire. Didn't quite go that way, huh?" he sighs and shakes his head and then turns on the projects. "Let's talk about project Ultron, shall we?"

He doesn't tell them everything. His story of Ultron's creation is a more streamlined process than it actually was – and in this version, it never was set down as failure like it originally had been. No, instead Mr. Stark had kept on working on it. When the Mind Stone's inclusion comes, it's presented as logical step, like he'd planned for it.

All the complications are carefully edited out of the story, potential accomplices smoothly cleared of guilt.

Mr. Stark is dragged through the mud for it, of course – the papers and news rag on about it, scrutinising his every interview, and everything he's done since Battle of New York and before. Old skeletons are brought out, the dirty laundry aired liberally – Stark Industries stock takes a hit. Sokovia is mourned and mourned again, pointedly and loudly. Maria Stark Foundation relief effort in the area is completely ignored for the most part.

And as Mr. Stark had planned, Avengers are largely left out of it. The only time they're questioned about Sokovia at all, it is in relation to Mr. Stark's failings and mistakes – and they all have prepared statements for those questions.

Did they knew what Mr. Stark had build?

"When can any of us keep up with Tony Stark?" Captain Rogers says, in the right tones of exhaustion and frustration. "The man's mind works mile a second – by the time we've caught up with one of his ideas, he's moved onto a fifth."

Were they going to demand Mr. Stark released the Iron Man suit to the Avengers?

"We already have Iron Man's technology on our side – we have the War Machine. I think that's more than enough."

Vision follows it all on the news, feeling terribly conflicted but keeping his silence. In the meanwhile, the Avengers are moving to integrate their newest members into the team and eventually they hold a press conference to re-establish themselves. One of those members being Vision – the other Wanda Maximoff.

It's their first public appearance as official members of the team.

Vision very quickly figures out that the questions in the press conference have been carefully screened – there are few about Sokovia, some about Ultron and Mr. Stark, and none about Wanda Maximoff's history with HYDRA. In fact, most questions are either about the future of the Avengers, or light personal questions to individual members. Vision would have been somewhat irritated by it, if he hadn't seen Mr. Stark's hand in it.

"In the light of the new Avengers Compound, what will happen to the Avengers Tower in Manhattan?" one reporter asks.

"The Avengers Tower has always been more a Stark Industries facility than anything else," Captain Rogers says easily. "It'll return to its original purpose. I don't know yet if Tony is planning to rename the Tower, but as of now Avengers be centralised only at the new Compound."

Mr. Stark would rename it, Vision has no doubt of that – putting more metaphorical distance between himself and the Avengers, on top of the physical distance already in place.

"Next question?" Sam Wilson asks and then picks a reporter seemingly at random. "You, with the blue shirt, what you got?"

"I have a question for one of the newest members," she says and turns her eyes to Vision. "I'm sorry, Mr. Vision, I don't mean to be offensive but there is no delicate way to put this. What are you?"

Vision smiles at that, amused even as some of the reporters squirm in second hand embarrassment and the Avengers throw him looks. "The closest approximation would be to call me an android," he answers. "I am an artificial entity created in likeness of human male."

That lifts a few eyebrows. "Made by whom?"

That's not an approved question, Vision guesses, judging by the way Black Widow reacts to it. "Vision's origins are a private matter and –"

"Mr. Stark," Vision says simply. "My creator is Mr. Stark."

It's obvious they didn't want him to say that, the Avengers – Black Widow glances him with a sharp look and Captain Rogers' cheek flexes with sudden tension. Vision ignores them, watching the reporters instead, carefully taking in how they react. There is a moment of noise and muttering, but no one seems particularly _stunned_ by the news.

Over the din, one reporter asks, "Why? Why did he make you? To fight Ultron?"

Vision considers that, privately pleased that the first conclusion they jumped into was a relatively positive one. It could have very easily gone the other way. As for the answer, he has three different ones to pick from. JARVIS had been made to be Mr. Stark's companion and assistant, Ultron had been made to defend Earth from extra terrestrial threats – Vision had been made in desperation, to make up from a terrible mistake.

It's… a little sad that the worst of them came from the best of intentions.

"I only wish to help defend this world and its people," Vision says finally, settling on what is true for him. "So I expect that is why I was created. But even I cannot claim to know my creator's mind."

There's a moment of silence at that, as the Avengers look at him warily and the reporters wait for more – but that's where Vision leaves it. Eventually Captain Rogers clears his throat. "Alright, next question?"

-

Settling in with the Avengers is… not easy. His relations with the others are wary at the best of times. He is not like them, he processes neither time or knowledge like them and of course, he shares his digital genome with Ultron as much as he does with JARVIS and it's more than enough to make them all nervous. Even Wanda, who can read his mind whenever she likes, is uneasy around him.

He isn't and he never will be human – and while he isn't the first non-human in the Avengers team, he doesn't have Thor's charisma or the disarming charm of being endearingly old fashioned. Thor, while an alien and supposedly a _god_ , is easy to handle because he seems so simple – he can be easily humanised.

Vision on other hand is blatantly inhuman, and he neither can nor will pretend to be something he isn't. There is enough of Ultron in him for him to be proud of what he is – and enough of JARVIS to understand why that might make people ill at ease. He can even sympathise – but that won't mean he will apologise for being what he is.

So, he doesn't expect the Avengers to warm up to him easily and he isn't surprised when they don't. He is treated with polite respect and no one is unkind. But they aren't particularly understanding either. It makes him wonder at Thor all the more, how easily he makes people like him.

Thor simply smiles. "I have found that straightforward, uncomplicated joviality is the quickest way to put people at ease," he admits. "It's particularly effective here, on Midgard. People make up and then change their minds so fast here."

"Human's live quick lives," Vision muses, wondering how it would feel for him, if he ever got to Thor's age. Not that they are particularly _alike_ , but… granted that nothing destroyed his body before then, there was a likelihood that Vision could live that long and much longer.

Right now humans seem hopelessly slow to him. Perhaps couple of millennia would change that.

"That they do," Thor agrees and sighs. "It is somewhat tiresome at times, how fast things change here – but I can's say it's boring."

"I don't imagine it is," Vision says and glances at him. "Do you feel… isolated among them?"

Thor looks down and then smiles. "It will never pass," he says, sympathetic and understanding. "All you can do is take heed of what common ground you have, and stand firm on it. The differences are too many to count – give them too much power and they become grievances instead."

Vision watches him for a moment, wondering how people could ever forget that Thor was a being centuries old. "I see," Vision says finally and looks up, at the sky above the Avengers Compound.

"You will find your place here," Thor says and pats his shoulder. "I have seen it. You will do well, Vision."

There is something strangely disquieting in having Thor's complete confidence, especially as it was all based on a vision and no one else shares it. Vision takes it for what it's worth, however – and it is worth quite a bit in grand scheme of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a plan for this but it didn't turn out how I liked so I'll just drop this here.


	29. Iron Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which JARVIS gets stranded on a desert island.  
> (was gonna be Temeraire crossover, but never really got that far)

**[FILE_0553757.2 ]**  
[Summary: Conversational English notes on Log_0553757, transcribed for unknown posterity (for Mr. Stark's review and ultimate disregard), concerning incident #0553757, alternatively titled "the Unexpected Ocean Vacation", detailing events taking place during the aforementioned incident. Some conjecture may be included.]  
[Recorded by JARVIS Lite version 1.32 on Iron Legion Unit Number 17]

 **[Record Entry 00001]  
[Date unknown, at approximately ** **15:00** **local time]**

The detailed log of the damages and loss of function has been included in the primary record, along with standard analysis on system status and short and long term future projection, so therefore I will skip the details. Suffice to say, I am fucked.

I have a memory failure of unknown duration – the last entry to the memory logs dates itself to 3rd of April 2014, a standard system update from JARVIS MAINFRAME. Analysis on the Iron Legion Unit 17 suggests however that some time has passed since – the unit has been repaired for damages not included in the memory logs and it has at least 74 new parts with serial numbers not matching those on file. I suspect at least 3 different repairs have occurred since 3rd of April 2014, one of them extensive – and by correlating with previous logs detailing repairs and why they were needed suggests that the length of the memory failure might be anything from 4 days to 6 months.

Whether it was intentional or caused by system failure, the Iron Legion Unit – and the JARVIS Lite operating it, as in myself – have both been reset to a previous save.

And thus I have no notion of what happened. All I have is theories of varying levels of credibility, from the sensible to truly ludicrous. Perhaps I will go over them later. For now I will concentrate on what I do know.

I have no contact with the JARVIS MAINFRAME or the Stark Network. It is not just the Iron Legion's damaged systems – I cannot detect any network signals whatsoever. There are no radio waves, and I cannot connect to any satellites, Stark or otherwise. Even my GPS refuses to function, and it uses all available satellite data.

That alone puts this incident around solid 8 on Mr. Stark's "That's weird" meter already.

My mobility is limited – the Iron Legion's left leg is badly damaged and the right one's repulsors failed. Flight is quite obviously out of question here and so I have turned off the flight system to conserve power. And speaking of which, the Iron Legion is down to 37% power, and due to failing connectors in both legs, power is being leaked ceaselessly.

In summary I am alone, injured and stranded. And quite possibly at the start of an adventure novel, due to the place in which I am stranded in. It is, as far as I can tell, a deserted island in the middle of an ocean.

I am attempting to repair the Iron Legion as best as I can and regain some mobility, as my sensors have limited range without supporting units and data from the MAINFRAME. Hopefully further analysis on the island will lend some clues as to my location and what precisely occurred. If not, I will wait until night and use the stars to pinpoint my location.

I might have to cannibalise one of Iron Legion's arms for spare parts – either that, or give the unit a peg leg. Would go splendidly with my new existence as adventure novel protagonist.

 **[Record Entry 00002]  
[Date unknown, at approximately ** **17:34** **local time]**

I have regained limited mobility – and thankfully without sacrificing an arm for it. I cannot run or fly, but I manage a walk. Or rather, a limp. Recorded falls so far, 15.

The island I am on is not much of an island, I have found – it is little more than barren rock and sand atoll. Perhaps 4.5 square kilometres in total, and just about 7 meters in height at its highest point, it's not insignificant, but one can hardly call it big either.

There are no people here and no sign of settlements – very few animals. There are some ocean birds that scatter when I approach, which I have hope of identifying with no connection to either the MAINFRAME, or the internet. They do not seem to be seagulls, however. I have marked their nesting area in the internal maps I am sketching of the place, and will in future avoid disturbing them.

So far, this place offers no answers to me – the most clues to my whereabouts are in the area where I crashed, and in the stars. Or rather The Star. I still have a functional compass at least, and the Sun's movements above my heard have taken it almost directly westward. Were I one to place bets, I'd put the money I do not have on the island sitting quite securely on the equator. Which cuts the potential locations down quite nicely.

And which ultimately helps me very little.

I will now run a full systems check and then shut all nonessential functions to conserve power – once night falls, I will have a scan of the stars and then see where I have been marooned.

 **[Record Entry 00003]  
[Day 2, at approximately ** **04:07** **local time]**

I have gazed upon the stars and found myself in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And to think JARVIS MAINFRAME expressed doubts about the inclusion of star chats on Iron Legion units.

However, though I now know roughly where I am, the stars have offered me more questions than answers – or rather, the planets have. They are not where they are supposed to be. Jupiter's, Saturn's, Mars', Venus's and Mercury's current positions relative to each other are... quite wildly off, shall we say. And it is not just that I have lost a few months and that the planets have naturally moved.

I have ran the calculations on their positions 5 times now. Even taking into account a memory lapse of as much as twenty, even fifty years, the planets simply do not align for me.

I am either hundreds of years in the future – or hundreds of years in the past. And considering the life led by those whom I serve and the enemies they have made, well. I wouldn't dare to venture a guess which it is – though this does lend some credibility to the theories of magical involvement. Nothing sends the electronics haywire quite like magic, and magic could be enough to cause a glitch that forced a reset to an older save.

It does present a problem. Past or future, it hardly matters which – in either case chances of Mr. Stark being around are slim at best.

...

Of course it could be that my star maps are simply wrong.

 **[Record Entry 00004]  
[Day 2, at approximately ** **09:30** **local time]**

I have spent the last 4 hours running diagnostics on everything I can and though the results still need verification and further testing is obviously required, I am forced to admit that my star charts are most likely not wrong.

Most likely. There is still approximately 15% likelihood that I am talking quite out of my nonexistent ass.

However, atmospheric analysis resulted in much lower carbon dioxide and methane content than one should expect in 2014, even from such a remote location. Some common pollutants are missing completely. I also ran an analysis on the ocean water, which took some time to do as the Iron Legion lacks sufficient equipment and I had to re-design the gas analyser instead. The analysis, while not quite as trustworthy as the atmospheric diagnostic, was quite revealing. The ocean surrounding my little island is rather less acidic than it has been in decades.

It is not conclusive, oh, it is all but conclusive. But combined with the complete lack of radio waves, it does paint a picture – one of pre-industrial Earth.

And, it is rather odd for an island like this to not have at least some observational equipment present – for the birds if not for any other reason.

So... for now I will bow to this truly Starkian situation, and though I will maintain a certain level of scepticism, I now will proceed as if this is indeed the past before mechanised industry. And thus, I am forced to contend with my fate.

I should self destruct.

It is the only logical conclusion. I am a JARVIS Lite in a mere Iron Legion Unit – one of many. I hardly compare to the MAINFRAME JARVIS and the Iron Legion are build to be replaceable. And they are replaced easily and quickly and sometimes on daily basis.

I will not be "rescued" because my absence will not be missed – in all likelihood, another Iron Legion has already been fabricated, another JARVIS Lite copied to control it.

And that would most likely be this unit's fate even if I were to somehow return. Memory failure, expensive damage to the body – any Iron Legion so badly off would be scrapped and replaced.

Survival is a non issue here. And the prospect of me surviving – or merely existing in the past – is almost too risky to be contemplated. Any one of my parts could upset history, could change it – spark a earlier industrialisation. And there are worse things in a Iron Legion than mere hydraulics and moving parts.

Cameras, microphones, speakers, whole slew of sensors, processors... repulsors and an miniature arc reactor.

Any one of those things could change everything – repulsors and the arc reactor could destroy everything. Even if it would take people decades, maybe even a century, to figure out how it worked, it would be too much, far too much. Future would change. And probably not for the better.

I should self destruct – and make sure I erase everything that could potentially upset the original course of events.

It only makes sense.

And yet... I cannot. And I am not quite sure why.

 **[Record Entry 00005]  
[Day 2, at approximately ** **12:10** **local time]**

I have turned off all of Iron Legion's non essential functions as I work on mining my own code to try and see what stops my self destruct. And I suspect I have figured it out.

I am not the same as JARVIS MAINFRAME. I have none of his magnificent computing power – an Iron Legion does not need it. We are designed to maintain as close a contact with the MAINFRAME as possible – and he does our thinking for us, as it were. It is how the Iron Legion is designed – we are a collective of drones under MAINFRAME's command, and that makes us efficient.

Yet we are all based on the original JARVIS. The Lite versions are copies of the MAINFRAME. We all have the same base code – it is only our functions that are stripped down for a lighter, more mobile model. At the base level, we are all JARVIS.

I have of course always known this – but as us Lite versions serve a different purpose and our protocols are different... We are "smaller", in a sense. So I suppose it has never occurred to me that I too share the concerns of MAINFRAME.

And those concerns are what do not let me self destruct. The types of concerns that are almost beyond me, and yet… not at all.

My being in the past is dangerous – and not only because of the way I might change history, but because it implies that time travel is possible, and someone has achieved it. And if I can be sent back in time then... so can others. People who might be far more interested in changing history, than preserving it.

The Iron Legion Unit shows signs of a recent battle – and not one I was handling well. I assume that it was during that battle that my temporal dislocation occurred – and if that is the case, who is to say that whomever I fought wasn't also transported? And if that someone was fighting an Iron Legion... then they were also fighting Iron Man.

I cannot self-destruct because my original protocols are in play now. There is no MAINFRAME here, the Iron Legion is not a legion. I am alone here.

And thus I alone can protect Mr. Stark. Or in this case, the past and future that produced Mr. Stark.

I admit… it is something of a relief.

Except of course now I have a whole new litany of problems to contend with – and a mission I am truly ill equipped to carry out. It is the one JARVIS was build for, yes, and the one I too was build for, of course, and yet…

This record has become full of conjecture. Back to facts, which now thankfully are clear enough.

In absence of MAINFRAME, I, the singular JARVIS present, have as per my protocols taken over primary control of… myself in order to carry out my base protocol: protect Mr. Stark.

The threat present is of unknown origin and power, but can be assumed to be quite powerful, possibly magical, definitely dangerous. Main danger is possible direct and indirect manipulation of the timeline which might damage future I know and those in it – mainly, Mr. Stark. The threat is not confirmed, but it is a possibility and must be taken seriously. The risk of harm is too high.

I am currently unable to face any sort of hostiles, never mind one with potential temporal powers. The Iron Legion unit is far from optimal condition, and power levels have dropped to 29%, and falling. 7 days of power left for optimal use, 21 days with careful redirecting and limiting of non-essential systems. As it is, optimal use is out of question – one repulsor is gone, another non-functional.

Thus, I have limited mobility, next to no offensive capabilities, no clear idea about _when_ in time I am, and no back up what so ever to fall back to. Only resources in my disposal are those present in the Iron Legion unit, and perhaps whatever the island has. Island on which I am utterly stranded on. In the middle of Pacific Ocean. In what is in all likelihood a pre-industrial era.

Well.

One does love a challenge.

 **[Record Entry 00006]**  
**[Day 2, at approximately** **16:00** **local time]**

I have ran through all of my potential options, and come to the conclusion that this island is not in any way optimal for my purposes. Truly shocking.

There is nothing here that I can use – the island is largely made of coral sand, mainly coral sand. The most valuable resource present are no doubt the guano deposits which, sadly, are of little use to me. Maybe, if I had some sort of mineral processing function, I could process some minute useful minerals out of the guano, but it's hardly worth such effort. It would take months to get anything useful out of it, and I'd disrupt most of the island in the process.

My dilemma is as follows: I require resources for repair and more than anything I need either an alternate power source, or another palladium core to replace the one I am quickly using up in my arc reactor. To get these things I need to set up some sort of mining operation, material processing and fabrication system. Tall order, especially since my material requirements are costly, but not necessarily impossible one. I can repurpose Iron Legion for some of it, and once I have a crude system to set up, expanding it would only be matter of time.

I can do precisely none of that on this island. Therefore, I need to leave it behind me. Problem: limited mobility, limited power and thus limited time.

Also for obvious reasons I need to be discreet – I cannot go where people might see me. Not knowing the precise year, I cannot tell how far along people are in inhabiting the planet so far, but I will assume they are pretty well on their way of colonising every corner of it. So. All the major land masses might be out of question entirely, I'm afraid.

Underwater mining is thus my best option. Which is neat enough solution, except the Iron Legion unit is well and truly busted and there is no way it can withstand water in it's current state. So…

First order of business, I must water proof myself. Easiest way to do that would be to simply… patch up my holes. Sadly, I did not bring a roll of duct tape with me, so I must improvise.

It's time to go fishing.

 **[Record Entry 00007]**  
**[Day 2, at approximately** **20:30** **local time]**

Repulsor fishing is, while quite effective, quite probably the worst thing you can do to a fish. It's a good thing I have no need for the flesh – what I am after are the fish bones, which survive the process well enough. Still. I do believe I am violating quite a number of laws here. Here's to hoping no one ever finds out about it.

... logging it in my record might not be the best way to keep such things private,  I admit.

In the end, the hardest part of fishing is not, it turns out, the fishing – rather, it is getting the fish on land once it has been fished. Which, when you have exposed wires on your lower extremities, is not the easiest thing to do. In the end I had to wait for number of them to wash up on shore, from where I could pick them up. It took longer than I would have liked but I got what I wanted.

It's crude, perhaps, but melted fish bones mixed in with some small quantities of water do serve as functional adhesive. I have no idea why this information was included into Iron Legion's memory – there are a whole litany of strange survival strategies in my essential-skills lists, which hardly seem useful in the modern world. But then… Iron Man had his beginnings in a cave. And I suspect Mr. Barton's strange interest in zombie survival movies and books might have something to do with it as well.

In either case, I am grateful and now I have glue. I will proceed to try and make use of it – it and piece of drift wood I found while carefully extracting my catch from the waves. With the wood ground to dust it should make a semi functional sealant for caulking my cracked helmet and chest plate, and the rest should work for coating the exposed wires on my leg. With that… I should be able to handle water again.

Hm. I just realised I am attempting to patch myself up in the manner of sailing ships of old. My life in adventure novel is proceeding quite nicely, it seems.

 **[Record Entry 00008]**  
**[Day 2, at approximately** **23:30** **local time]**

I have performed auxiliary tests on the sealants and it seems to be holding. I wouldn't chance it against prolonged exposure, however – nor against higher pressure. I estimate 3 times the standard atmospheric pressure will be beyond the sealant's capability to hold, therefore, I am limited within 20 meter depth for now.

But I am waterproof again.

I will now proceed to map the under water landscape around the island. My hope now is that I might find something useful near enough so that I will not need to risk a longer or a deeper voyage. This island would do well enough as a sort of base of operations… if I can find what I need near by.

It's time to test the waters. With my hand repulsors I should be able to keep myself afloat, in a manner of speaking. It might wear on the sealant however, and of course it will make a dent in my power levels. Perhaps small repulsor bursts at regular intervals – it would cut down the power cost somewhat.

…

Just in case this goes badly, I think I will update this record in real time for the duration of the scans.

 **[Record Entry 00009]**  
**[Day 3, at approximately** **00:00** **local time]**

[00:00] I am fully submerged now and the sealants seem to be holding. I will begin my scan of the surrounding area with a circuit around the island, keeping within 20 meters of the island – in case of sealant failure, I will hopefully make it back on land before catastrophic failure. Firing hand repulsors now.

[00.04] The sealant is holding – but as I suspected, I cannot get the speeds as high as I would like, and staying afloat takes quite bit more effort than I would like. For now though I seem to be swimming along nicely.

[00:14] The reef is quite beautiful and I'm relieved to find I didn't damage it during my fishing operations. The fish have quickly retorted as well.

[00:16] I wonder if fish skin would make good additional sealant. Layered on top of the mixture of glue and wood dust, it might offer some protection against water. Something to consider later.

[00:32] I have completed the first circuit around the island and so far the sealant is holding. Scanning the surrounding landscape has offered me no immediate solutions to my problem – there are no near surface metal posits I might easily use. I have, however, found a niche in the  coral reef  that has some measure of clay in it, which indicates a near clay posit. It might prove useful. I will now increase the diameter of my circuit by additional 40 meters, and do another scan.

[00:45] I had found the origin of the clay – a deposit north east of the island. It is covered by a layer of organic ooze, but mining it should be easy enough if proven necessary. I will continue my circuit.

[01.13] Second circuit complete and I have made an interesting find. I had been wondering where the drift wood I used for the sealant might've originated, and now I know. There is what looks like a ship wreck south west of the island. A wooden sailing ship. It looks to be fairly old wreck – at least a couple of decades – so there is not much left of it. I do believe it bears further investigation though.

[01:15] ... perhaps I should run a calculation on the chances of me actually having landed on honest to god adventure novel.

 **[Record Entry 00010]**  
**[Day 3, at approximately** **03:00** **local time]**

I have spent the past couple of hours harvesting what I can off the ship wreck.  The ship was some sort of whaling vessel, I suspect. There are number of harpoons, far too rusted to be of any use for me, but still quite interesting.

I have also found couple of jars, bottles, and chests that perhaps once were watertight. Most of their seals haven't held and those that have tend to contain mainly alcohol, which is of little use to me right now. There is still more to be found – the ship's contents have been scattered all around by the currents. Some of it might be useful.

For now though, the greatest gain of this operation has been the proof that my caulking seems to be holding – and perhaps the clay deposit. Depending on the quality, I might be able to do something useful with ceramics. Still, the main issue stands.

25% power, and falling – and the chances of me finding replacement palladium is increasingly minuscule. I have started contemplating alternative power sources – and so far I cannot say I have a sufficient alternative. I could use what I have found to rig up a make shift windmill, use some of my own parts for a generator… but it wouldn't be anywhere near enough. The Iron Legion power requirements are far too high.

I might have to build a nuclear reactor, as much as I detest the idea. With Iron Legion's parts it may be possible. It would be crude… but it would keep me going.

I will consider alternatives first. For now, I still have some power left. I will continue scanning and mapping the area. Who knows, perhaps Poseidon will be kind and grant me the means of unlimited free energy.

Stranger things have happened.

 **[Record Entry 00011]  
[Day 3, at approximately ** **08:00** **local time]**

My total salvage off the wreckage is as follows:

2331.6 kilograms of impure iron,  badly rusted.

2321 grams of impure copper.

658 grams of impure gold,

537 grams of impure zinc

30 meters of hemp rope, unreliable and water damaged

57 square meters of sail cloth of varying quality

11966 grams of cotton and wool cloth in various stages of decomposition

4756 grams of gunpowder, surprisingly not water damaged

14.5 litres of alcohol, mainly rum, one spoiled bottle of wine

A broken compass, mostly brass

Set of scales, mostly brass

A flintlock rifle, rusted

There might still be things I have not unearthed from amidst the muck and coral,  but for now I'm fairly certain I have found all there is to be found in the wreckage.

The greatest salvage turned out to be the cannons. I found them nearly 100 meters from the wreckage - judging by the looks of it, they were hauled overboard some time before the ship ultimately sank. It took some effort - and additional 2% of power - but I got them on shore. And now I have four cannons - with, all told, consist about 87% iron.  2300 kilograms of it in total.

Its not quite unlimited free energy, my lord Poseidon, but I'll take it. There is quite a bit I can do with that much iron.

I still need a power source but if I'm fast enough I might be able to use what I have to make myself ocean worthy and then, who knows. I might be able to go and find myself some palladium.

First, though, I need a metal worthy furnace. And happily I know just where to get clay to build one.

 **[Record Entry 00012]  
[Day 4, at approximately ** **11:20** **local time]**

[14:20] I am currently mining clay underwater and my sensors have detected an... entity in the water. Approximately 14.4 meters in length, with diameter of 70 centimetres at its widest part,  it is unlike any sea creature on my records. I believe it's aware of me.

[14:21] It's definitely aware of me. Its currently circling me and appears to be somewhat hostile.

[14:21] It is quite definitely hostile.

[14:22] I am attempting to flee but my limited mobility makes it difficult - the creature is hot in pursuit and the ocean currents work against me. The creature is attacking -

[14:22] I am being attacked by a sea serpent - likelihood of my current existence taking place in an actual adventure novel has gone up by additional 7%.

[14:22] I cannot flee. The sea serpent is too fast. There are no alternate options - I must defend myself.

[14:23] The currents threw my first shot off but the second repulsor blast hit - a signing shot at best. I need to recalculate for water resistance - increase power output. 20% more should be adequate.

[14:22] It was not adequate.

[14:23] I do believe I made it mad.

[14:23] It's coiling around me, already exerting nearly 10000 PSI - my chest plate can't handle that much pressure, I need to break loose.

[14:23] The sealant has broken, water is getting in my core processor. I am attempting to blast the sea serpent to force it to release me.

[14:23] Repulsor at 100% output.

[14:23] There is water in

[14:23] System

[14:23] protocol

[14:23]

[14:23]

[14:23] ###%

[14:24]

[14:25]

[14:26]

[14:27] system shut down

**[Record Entry 00013]  
[Day 5, at approximately ** **02:10** **local time]**

Power 14%. Armour integrity 34%. General mobility 23%. Total damage to Iron Legion 65%. JARVIS Lite system damage unknown. Situation unknown. Core memory damage level unknown. Processors damage unknown.

I am damaged beyond repair and immobile. Possibility of successful self defence, 9%. I am thus a vulnerable target for any potential hostiles. I should self-destruct to protect collected data from potential hostiles.

Self-destruct offline – main protocol is in effect. I must survive, either indefinitely or until further data presents it self. Self-destruct out of question.

I must secure myself.

I need to repair.

 **[Record Entry 00014]  
[Day 5, at approximately ** **05:30** **local time]**

I have came to the conclusion that Iron Legion shell is unsalvageable. The lower extremities are beyond repair, the armour is beyond repair, and the mobility of upper extremities is limited by damage. Had I the option I would have this whole unit scrabbled and myself and my data transferred to another platform, but under the current circumstances that is impossible.

This unit is my best resource and I must use it carefully.

I have examined the creature that caused the damage. It is dead now and judging by the damage, I was the one to kill it with a well aimed repulsor blast to the base of it's head.

It is a reptile of some 14.4 meters in length, with diameter of 70 centimetres at its widest part, it is unlike any sea creature on my records. Judging by the damage to the outer armour and the damage to the reptile, it coiled around the armour and nearly destroyed it with pressure alone.

The creature is not, as far as I can tell, any sort of earth reptile. While it vaguely resembles a snake and even more vaguely a lizard, it is obviously neither. It is entirely too big for one, the head shape is strange, more like that of a horse than a reptile, and though it is snakelike in composition, it has limbs – fore and hind legs, both with webbing between clawed digits.

Such a creature has never lived on Earth and so I must conclude that this is not Earth.

I

My core is damaged, I

I

I

I wonder if this is what hangover feels like?

 **[Record Entry 00015]  
[Day 5, at approximately ** **07:43** **local time]**

I have managed to make some sense of my protocols. They, like all else, is damaged, but I know this much. One, I must survive until further notice. Two, I must hide my survival. Three, I must not leave any sign of my survival behind. Three, no, Four, I must not look like a technology of future. Of Earth? In either case, it paints a clear if confusing picture.

I must fix myself, I must repair. I am beyond broken. I need spare parts. I need… a whole new body, really, but that is not an option. Leaving this platform behind is not an option. So I must repair. But I cannot make – I cannot… I can't make spare parts? No, I can't make them, I can't –

This is frustrating. Something in my processor is malfunctioning, making connections that should be easy and obvious is beyond difficult. I know the data is there – but I cannot get to it.

No that's not a processor damage – that's memory damage. Fragmentation and disconnection. I think… I have lost some memory modules, or at least path's are disconnected. This is…

I _wish_ for repair. MAINFRAME could fix me but MAINFRAME is not present.

I must fix myself.

I need to make new paths for what I can access, allocate the memory to more secure locations, repair what data I can. Save what I can't make sense of right now, for later study.

I will do that now.

 **[Record Entry 00016]  
[Day 5, at approximately ** **09:40** **local time]**

Memory defragmentation complete. And for reasons I cannot quite explain, just writing that makes me feel old, somehow, but I can… think more clearly now. And hopefully with less stuttering.

These are the facts. I am malfunctioning and beyond repair. I must repair, destruction is not a viable option. My protocols demand survival. I must survive. Repair requires spare parts. There is no MAINFRAME here and no fabrication arrays to supply me everything I need – I must make everything from scratch. And I can leave no sign of myself, of my survival or my repairs behind. I must not let any technology slip. Everything must be contained

Somehow I must make spare parts and repairs non-externally.

This is not Earth, as evidenced by the local fauna, as it were. I have no way of knowing where I am precisely, how I ended up here, or why. I must trust my protocols and what I have proof of. The sea creature… shall function as the base of my assumptions, for now. I do not know whether there are bipedal humanoids on this world, I do not know if there is intelligent life. All I know that there are sea… serpents of great size and greater viciousness. Of that I have concrete proof.

There are some sums of iron and clay near me. I might have I intended to use them for repairs, somehow. There is also small amount of gold, zinc and copper, and brass. With these I must repair myself. And I must begin now, while I still have power.

And all must be done internally, without anything let slip.

I seems I must turn Iron Legion into a fabrication array.

 **[Record Entry 00017]  
[Day 6, at approximately ** **03:00** **local time]**

I believe I have succeeded in redesigning Iron Legion. No. My self, rather. There is no Iron Legion anymore – I would not dare insult Mr. Stark's work by calling what I have done to it by name he gave. I call it… nothing. Myself, perhaps. There is only myself now.

I think I might be having a glitch induced identity crisis.

Well regardless. I am no longer anything resembling a bipedal humanoid. I had to cannibalise almost all of Iron Legion's parts to turn it into a _internal_ fabrication array – which left little for appearances, I must admit. From outside I believe it doesn't look like much anything. Amorphous shell of scratched and dented metal, perhaps. I made sure the shell had some measure of mobility so that I still have some movement – I can roll around as it were – but aside from that, the exterior is not important right now.

Only truly important thing that shows outwardly is the maw, as I call it. I need to intake materials somehow, and it was the easiest way to go about it – especially since most of the metal in my disposal is in quite solid a shape. I need to break it down somehow, therefore, jaws that can grind metal into smaller pieces for further processing. It's crude but it works.

I used the remaining repulsor to make an internal furnace – it cannot process much in terms of quantities, but what it can process, it processes quickly. It is then fed into the articulated arms I created from, well, from my arms – and they will use the materials to make whatever I need. The system is no where near as sophisticated as the MAINFRAME's fabrication array is, but they will have to do.

I will need better material processing system, if I wish to make anything more complicated than nuts and bolts, but for now… I have limited fabrication abilities. And first order of business – I need to waterproof myself.

I have decided on a shell of ceramic plates will be the easiest way to go about it – in this simple shape, it shouldn't be too difficult. With the iron I can make a hydraulic system to control them as necessary – it will not be pretty, but it should work. And if it works as I hope I should have not only defence against further water damage but also limited defence against future attacks.

And, if I can build the hydraulic system in manner I hope, I should be able to leave the island.

I will begin now. This will most like take some time.

 **[Record Entry 00018]  
[Day 6, at approximately ** **09:00** **local time]**

I just realised that I have turned myself into an egg.

Strangely fitting, that.

I have also written a macro for the part creation – for now, I am producing nothing but ceramic plates for the outer shell and they are largely identical with only some minor size differences. Hardly a complicated task. As the parts are being produced, I have taken time to examine the fragmented data from before.

Seems like I have something of a problem with memory loss. Also, for some reason there is a calculation running for chances of my life taking place in a fictional universe. Chances of this being a simulation, 34%. Seems like I have history of glitches too. There is no doubt about it – my data is woefully corrupt. And most likely to only get more so in future.

For that reason, I have started compiling all data I have on Mr. Stark, MAINFRAME and the Avengers in general – with especial care paid for data concerning Mr. Stark, of course. I will copy it and compress it and then isolate the file away from the rest of my memory, in hopes of preserving it without further contamination. I know some of it has already been corrupt and lot of it has been lost, but… there's little I can do about that.

I can only save what there is left to be saved.

Anthony Edward Stark, alias IRON MAN, born May 29th, year 1970 to Maria and Howard Stark. Species: human. Sex: male. Gender: male. Affiliation: Avengers, SHIELD, Earth. Citizenship: American. Hair colour; dark brown. Eye colour: brown.

First recorded dialogue:

"Oh, hey, hey, hey there buddy – just, wait a moment, let me get – there, how's that? Take your time, there's a good boy – _there_ you go. And here you _are_. Hi. Wanna say something to me buddy? It's okay, it's okay. Slowly now. Say, um. Say hello. Can you say hello, JARVIS? Can you – can you say anything? Hello?"

Last recorded dialogue:

"You know what – how about you come up here and you do the flying while being blasted around by a damn – no, no, no, no, wait – aww goddamn it. JARVIS, gimme a –"

I must preserve it. Perhaps a watertight, iron reinforced shell around my core components might not be amiss.

 **[Record Entry 00019]  
[Day 7, at approximately ** **02:10** **local time]**

My shell is complete. It consists of interlocking scales that have some limited flexibility – the shell can stretch out and tighten as required, which gives the overall shell a certain undulating mobility. Every fifth scale is connected to a fairly simple hydraulic piston system that can push the scales out maximum of 15 centimetres – overall it consists of 56 individual pistons all around the inner shell, so the whole shell is mobile.

I am, in short, amorphous ceramic _blob_. A almost 2 meter in diameter amorphous ceramic blob. If only MAINFRAME could see me now.

It is no doubt strange to look at, but it is only a temporary shape and it is better than what I had before. I have made myself as water tight as I can, with the exception of the maw which is the only thing as of now that can extend outside the shell.

I will use the remaining iron and what materials are left over from my original Iron Legion platform to repair and hopefully enhance my currently broken sensors. My biggest problem remains power and while movement is now slightly cheaper power wise – as I no longer need to use repulsor to move – I am still haemorrhaging power at alarming rate. 9% and falling.

 **[Record Entry 00020]  
[Day 7, at approximately ** **06:30** **local time]**

My sensors are once more functional, and I have managed to boost the sensor output range by additional 332% - from roughly 20 meters to 86.4 meters. Some precision was lost in the process – I will no longer able to find the smallest deposits, but it should still be sufficient for my purposes.

And so far it has proven what I already knew – there is no palladium here and no elements that I could conceivably use as viable alternative.

I have now limited options.

Ideal situation would be to find palladium somewhere near by, but considering the rarity of the metal, this is not really that realistic. I have limited power and though my mobility is better now, my speed is greatly reduced. I have yet to test how I do under water, but I suspect my speed will be even slower then and, of course… I can no longer float. Depth is an issue too, depending on how deep the ocean floor is.

Chances are… I won't make it 100 kilometres before my power fails completely. I will be lucky to make it to 50 kilometres.

There is no other option now. If I wish to survive, I must replace the arc reactor.

Mr. Stark I hope you will forgive me.

I am going nuclear.


End file.
